EMILIA- PARDO-BAZAN 


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SWAN  OF  VlLAMORTA^l- 


BY 


EMILIA    PARDO    BAZAN 

DDING   TRIP,       "  A    ( 
"MORRINA,"    ETC. 


AUTHOR    OF    "A    WEDDING   TRIP,"    "A    CHRISTIAN   WOMAN,' 


TRANSLATED   BY 

MARY  J.  SERRANO 

TRANSLATOR   OF    "  MARIE    BASHKIRTSEFF  :    THE   JOURNAL 
OF   A   YOUNG    ARTIST,"    ETC. 


U^ 


NEW  YORK 
CASSELT.    PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

104  (S:  106  Fourth  Avenue 


\(c^^U^ 


Copyright,  i8gi, 

BY      ' 

CASSELL    PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


A//  rights  reserved. 


^ 


THE  MERSHON   COMPANY   PRESS, 
RAHWAY,  N.  J, 


THE 

SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 


I. 

Behind  the  pine  grove  the  setting  sun  had  left 
a  zone  of  fire  against  which  the  trunks  of  the  pine 
trees  stood  out  Hke  bronze  columns.  The  path  was 
rugged  and  uneven,  giving  evidence  of  the  ravages 
wrought  by  the  winter  rains ;  at  intervals  loose  stones, 
looking  like  teeth  detached  from  the  gum,  rendered 
it  still  more  impracticable.  The  melancholy  shades 
of  twilight  were  beginning  to  envelop  the  landscape ; 
little  by  little  the  sunset  glow  faded  away  and  the 
moon,  round  and  silvery,  mounted  in  the  heavens, 
where  the  evening  star  was  already  shining.  The 
dismal  croaking  of  the  frogs  fell  sharply  on  the  ear; 
a  fresh  breeze  stirred  the  dry  plants  and  the  dusty 
brambles  that  grew  by  the  roadside;  and  the  trunks 
of  the  pine  trees  grew  momentarily  blacker,  stand- 
ing out  like  inky  bars  against  the  pale  green  of  the 
horizon. 


2  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

A  man  was  descending  the  path  slowly,  bent,  ap- 
parently, on  enjoying  the  poetiy  and  the  peace  of 
the  scene  and  the  hour.  He  carried  a  stout  walking- 
stick,  and  as  far  as  one  could  judge  in  the  fading  light, 
he  was  young  and  not  ill-looking. 

He  paused  frequently,  casting  glances  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left  as  if  in  search  of  some  familiar  land- 
mark. Finally  he  stood  still  and  looked  around  him. 
At  his  back  was  a  hill  crowned  with  chestnut  trees; 
on  his  left  was  the  pine  grove ;  on  his  right  a  small 
church  with  a  mean  belfry ;  before  him  the  outlying 
houses  of  the  town.  He  turned,  walked  back  some 
ten  steps,  stopped,  fronting  the  portico  of  the 
church,  examined  its  wails,  and,  satisfied  at  last  that 
he  had  found  the  right  place,  raised  his  hands  to  his 
mouth  and  forming  with  them  a  sort  of  speaking 
trumpet,  cried,  in  a  clear  youthful  voice: 

"Echo,  let  us  talk  together!" 

From  the  angle  formed  by  the  walls,  there  came 
back  instantly  another  voice,  deeper  and  less  distinct, 
strangely  grave  and  sonorous,  which  repeated  with 
emphasis,  linking  the  answer  to  the  question  and 
dwelling  upon  the  final  syllable : 

"Let  us  talk  togethe-e-e-e-r !" 

"Arc  you  happy?" 

"  Happy-y-y-y !"  responded  the  echo. 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  % 

"Who  am  I?" 

"I-I-I-I!" 

To  these  interrogations,  framed  so  that  the  answer 
should  make  sense  with  them,  succeeded  phrases 
uttered  without  any  other  object  than  that  of  hear- 
ing them  reverberated  with  strange  intensity  by  the 
wall.  "It  is  a  lovely  night."—" The  moon  is  shin- 
ing."— "The  sun  has  set." — '*Do  you  hear  me, 
echo?" — "Have  you  dreams,  echo,  of  glory,  ambi- 
tion, love?"  The  traveler,  enchanted  with  his  oc- 
cupation, continued  the  conversation,  varying  the 
words,  combining  them  into  sentences,  and,  in  the 
short  intervals  of  silence,  he  listened  to  the  faint 
murmur  of  the  pines  stirred  by  the  evening  breeze, 
and  to  the  melancholy  concert  of  the  frogs.  The 
crimson  and  rose-colored  clouds  had  become  ashen 
and  had  begun  to  invade  the  broad  region  of  the 
firmament  over  which  the  unclouded  moon  shed  her 
silvery  light.  The  honeysuckles  and  elder-flowers 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  pine  grove  embalmed  the  air 
with  subtle  and  intoxicating  fragrance.  And  the 
interlocutor  of  the  echo,  yielding  to  the  poetic  influ- 
ences of  the  scene,  ceased  his  questions  and  exclama- 
tions and  began  to  recite,  in  a  slow,  chanting  voice, 
verses  of  Becquer,  paying  no  heed  now  to  the 
voice  from   the  wall,  which,  in  its  haste  to  repeat 


4  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

his  words,  returned  them  to  him  broken  and 
confused. 

Absorbed  in  his  occupation,  pleased  with  the  har- 
monious sounds  of  the  verse,  he  did  not  notice 
the  approach  of  three  men  of  odd  and  grotesque 
appearance,  wearing  enormous  broad-brimmed  felt 
hats.  One  of  the  men  was  leading  a  mule  laden 
with  a  leathern  sack  filled,  doubtless,  with  the  juice 
of  the  grape ;  and  as  they  walked  slowly,  and  the 
soft  clayey  soil  deadened  the  noise  of  their  footsteps, 
they  passed  close  by  the  young  man,  unperceived 
by  him.  They  exchanged  some  whispered  words 
with  one  another.  "Who  is  he,  man?" — "Segundo." 
— "The  lawyer's  son?" — "The  same." — "What  is  he 
doingj*  Is  he  talking  to  himself?" — "No,  he  is  talk- 
ing to  the  wall  of  Santa  Margarita." — "Well,  we  have 
as  good  a  right  to  do  that  as  he  has." — "Begin 
you  " — "One — two — here  goes " 

And  from  those  profane  lips  fell  a  shower  of  vile 
words  and  coarse  and  vulgar  phrases,  interrupting 
the  Osciiras  Golondriiias  which  the  young  man  was 
reciting  with  a  great  deal  of  expression,  and  produc- 
ing, in  the  peaceful  and  harmonious  nocturnal 
silence,  the  effect  of  the  clatter  of  brass  pans  and 
kettles  in  a  piece  of  German  music.  The  most 
refined    expressions    were    in    the    following   style: 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  5 

"D (here  an  oath).     Hurrah  for  the  wine  of  the 

Border!  Hurrah  for  the  red  wine  that  gives  cour- 
age to  man  !     D "  (the  reader's  imagination  may 

supply  what  followed,  it  being  premised  that  the 
disturbers  of  the  Becquerian  dreamer  were  three 
lawless  muleteers  who  were  carrying  with  them  an 
abundant  provision  of  the  blood  of  the  grape). 

The  nymph  who  dwelt  in  the  wall  opposed  no 
resistance  to  the  profanation  and  repeated  the  round 
oaths  as  faithfully  as  she  had  repeated  the  poet's 
verses.  Hearing  the  vociferations  and  bursts  of 
laughter  which  the  wall  sent  back  to  him  mockingly, 
Segundo,  the  lawyer's  son,  aware  that  the  barbarians 
were  turning  his  sentimental  amusement  into  ridi- 
cule, became  enraged.  Mortified  and  ashamed,  he 
tightened  his  grasp  on  his  stick,  strongly  tempted  to 
break  it  on  the  ribs  of  some  one  of  them ;  and,  mut- 
tering between  his  teeth,  ''Kaffirs!  brutes!  beasts!" 
and  other  offensive  epithets,  he  turned  to  the  left, 
plunged  into  the  pine  grove  and  walked  toward  the 
town,  avoiding  the  path  in  order  to  escape  meeting 
the  profane  trio. 

The  town  was  but  a  step  away.  The  walls  of  its 
nearest  houses  shone  white  in  the  moonlight,  and  the 
stones  of  some  buildings  in  course  of  erection,  gar- 
den walls,  orchards,  and  vegetable  beds,  filled  up  the 


o  '  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

space  between  the  town  and  the  pine  grove.  The 
path  grew  gradually  broader,  until  it  reached  the  high- 
road, on  either  side  of  which  leafy  chestnut  trees  cast 
broad  patches  of  shade.  The  town  was  already 
asleep,  seemingly,  for  not  a  light  was  to  be  seen,  nor 
were  any  of  those  noises  to  be  heard  which  reveal 
the  proximity  of  those  human  beehives  called  cities. 
Vilamorta  is  in  reality  a  very  small  beehive,  a  mod- 
est town,  the  capital  of  a  district.  Bathed  in  the 
splendor  of  the  romantic  satellite,  however,  it  was 
not  without  a  certain  air  of  importance  imparted  to 
it  by  the  new  buildings,  of  a  style  of  architecture 
peculiar  to  prison  cells,  which  an  Americanized 
Galician,  recently  returned  to  his  native  land  with  a 
plentiful  supply  of  cash,  was  erecting  with  all  possi- 
ble expedition. 

Segundo  turned  into  an  out-of-the-way  street — if 
there  be  any  such  in  towns  like  Vilamorta.  Only 
the  sidewalks  were  paved  ;  the  gutter  was  a  gutter  in 
reality ;  it  was  full  of  muddy  pools  and  heaps  of 
kitchen  garbage,  thrown  there  without  scruple  by 
the  inhabitants.  Segundo  avoided  two  things — step- 
ping into  the  gutter  and  walking  in  the  moonlight. 
A  man  passed  so  close  by  him  as  almost  to  touch 
him,  enveloped,  notwithstanding  the  heat,  in  an  am- 
ple cloak,  and  holding  open  above  his  head  an  enor- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  7 

mous  umbrella,  although  there  was  no  sign  of  rain; 
doubtless  he  was  some  convalescent,  some  visitor  to 
the  springs,  who  was  breathing  the  pleasant  night 
air  with  hygienic  precautions.  Segundo,  when  he 
saw  him,  walked  closer  to  the  houses,  turning  his 
face  aside  as  if  afraid  of  being  recognized.  With 
no  less  caution  he  crossed  the  Plaza  del  Consistorio, 
the  pride  of  Vilamorta,  and  then,  instead  of  joining 
one  of  the  groups  who  were  enjoying  the  fresh  air, 
seated  on  the  stone  benches  round  the  public  foun- 
tain, he  slipped  into  a  narrow  side  street,  and  cross- 
ing a  retired  little  square  shaded  by  a  gigantic  pop- 
lar turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  a  small  house 
half  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  the  tree.  Between  the 
house  and  Segundo  there  stood  a  lumbering  bulk — 
the  body  of  a  stage-coach,  a  large  box  on  wheels,  its 
shafts  raised  in  air,  waiting,  lance  in  rest,  as  it  were, 
to  renew  the  attack.  Segundo  skirted  the  obstacle, 
and  as  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  square,  absorbed 
in  his  meditations,  two  immense  hogs,  monstrously 
fat,  rushed  out  of  the  half-open  gate  of  a  neighbor- 
ing yard,  and  at  a  short  trot  that  made  their 
enormous  sides  shake  like  jelly,  made  straight  for 
the  admirer  of  Becquer,  entangling  themselves  sti> 
pidly  and  blindly  between  his  legs.  By  a  special 
interposition  of  Providence  the   young  man  did  not 


^  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

measure  his  length  upon  the  ground,  but,  his  pa- 
tience now  exhausted,  he  gave  each  of  the  swine  a 
couple  of  angry  kicks,  which  drew  from  them  sharp 
and  ferocious  grunts,  as  he  ejaculated  almost  audi- 
bly: "What  a  town  is  this,  good  Heavens!  Even, 
the  hogs  must  run  against  one  in  the  streets.  Ah, 
what  a  miserable  place !  Hell  itself  could  not  be 
worse !" 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  door  of  the  house, 
he  had,  to  some  extent,  regained  his  composure. 
The  house  was  small  and  pretty  and  had  a  cheerful 
air.  There  was  no  railing  outside  the  windows,  only 
the  stone  ledges,  which  were  covered  with  plants  in 
pots  and  boxes ;  through  the  windows  shaded  by 
muslin  curtains  a  light  could  be  seen  burning,  and  in 
the  silent  facade  there  was  something  peaceful  and 
attractive  that  invited  one  to  enter.  Segundo 
pushed  open  the  door  and  almost  at  the  same  in- 
stant there  was  heard  in  the  dark  hall  the  rustling  of 
skirts,  a  woman's  arms  were  opened  and  the  admirer 
of  Becquer,  throwing  himself  into  them,  allowed  him- 
self to  be  led,  dragged,  carried  bodily,  almost,  up 
the  stairs,  and  into  the  little  parlor  where,  on  a  table 
covered  with  a  white  crochet  cover,  burned  a  care- 
fully trimmed  lamp.  There,  on  the  sofa,  the  lover 
and  the  lady  seated  themselves. 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  9 

Truth  before  all  things.  The  lady  was  not  far  from 
thirty-six  or  thirty-seven,  and  what  is  worse,  could 
never  have  been  prett}^,  or  even  passably  good- 
looking.  The  smallpox  had  pitted  and  hardened 
her  coarse  skin,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  the 
leather  bottom  of  a  sieve.  Her  small  black  eyes, 
hard  and  bright  like  two  fleas,  matched  wxll  her 
nose,  which  was  thick  and  ill-shaped,  like  the  noses  of 
the  figures  of  lay  monks  stamped  on  chocolate. 
True,  the  mouth  was  fresh-colored,  the  teeth  white 
and  sound  like  those  of  a  dog;  but  everything  else 
pertaining  to  her — dress,  manner,  accent,  the  want 
of  grace  of  the  whole — was  calculated  rather  to  put 
tender  thoughts  to  flight  than  to  awaken  them. 
With  the  lamp  shining  as  brightly  as  it  does,  it  is 
preferable  to  contemplate  the  lover.  The  latter  is 
of  medium  height,  has  a  graceful,  well-proportioned 
figure,  and  in  the  turn  of  his  head  and  in  his  youth- 
ful features  there  is  something  that  irresistibly  at- 
tracts and  holds  the  gaze.  His  forehead,  which  is 
high  and  straight,  is  shaded  and  set  off  by  luxuriant 
hair,  worn  somewhat  longer  than  is  allowed  by  our 
present  severe  fashion.  His  face,  thin  and  delicately 
outlined,  casts  a  shadow  on  the  walls  which  is  made 
up  of  acute  angles.  A  mustache,  curling  with  the 
grace  which  is  peculiar  to  a  first  mustache,  and  to 


to  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

the  wavy  locks  of  a  young  girl,  shades  but  does  not 
cover  his  upper  lip.  The  beard  has  not  yet  attained 
its  full  growth;  the  muscles  of  the  throat  have  not 
yet  become  prominent ;  the  Adam's  apple  does  not 
yet  force  itself  on  the  attention.  The  complexion  is 
dark,  pale,  and  of  a  slightly  bilious  hue. 

Seeing  this  handsome  youth  leaning  his  head  on 
the  shoulder  of  this  woman  of  mature  age  and  un- 
disguised ugliness,  it  would  have  been  natural  to 
take  them  for  mother  and  son,  but  anyone  coming 
to  this  conclusion,  after  a  single  moment's  observa- 
tion, would  have  shown  scant  penetration,  for 
in  the  manifestations  of  maternal  affection,  how- 
ever passionate  and  tender  they  may  be,  there 
is  always  a  something  of  dignity  and  repose 
which  is  wanting  in  those  of  every  other 
affection. 

Doubtless  Segundo  felt  a  longing  to  see  the  moon 
again,  for  he  rose  almost  immediately  from  his  seat 
on  the  sofa  and  crossed  over  to  the  window,  his  com- 
panion following  him.  He  threw  open  the  sash,  and 
they  sat  down  side  by  side  in  two  low  chairs  whose 
seats  were  on  a  level  with  the  flower-pots.  A  fine 
carnation  regaled  the  sense  with  its  intoxicating 
perfume  ;  the  moon  lighted  up  with  her  silvery  rays 
the  foliage  of  the  poplar  that  cast    broad   shadow 


THE  S I VA  iV  OF  VILA  MOR  TA.  1 1 

over  the  little  square,       Segundo   opened  the  con- 
versation this  wise : 

"Have  you  made  any  cigars  for  me?" 
"Here  are  some,"  she  answered,  putting  her  hand 
into  her  pocket  and  drawing  from  it  a  bundle  of 
cigars.  "I  was  able  to  make  only  a  dozen  and  a  half 
for  you.  I  will  complete  the  two  dozen  to-night 
before  I  go  to  bed." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  by  the 
sharp  sound  made  by  the  striking  of  the  match  and 
then,  in  a  voice  muffled  by  the  first  puff  of  smoke, 
Segundo  went  on : 

"Why,  has  anything  new  happened?" 
''New?  No.  The  children — putting  the  house 
in  order — and  then — Minguitos.  He  made  my  head 
ache  with  his  complaining — he  complained  the  whole 
blessed  evening.  He  said  his  bones  ached.  And 
you?  Very  busy,  killing  yourself  reading,  studying, 
writing,  eh?     Of  course  !" 

"No,  I  have  been  taking  a  delightful  walk.  I 
went  to  Pefias-albas  and  returned  by  way  of  Santa 
Margarita.  I  have  seldom  spent  a  pleasanter  even- 
ing." 

"I  warrant  you  were  making  verses." 
"No,  my  dear.     The  verses  I  made  I  made  last 
night  after  leaving  you." 


12  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"Ah !  And  you  weren't  going  to  repeat  them  to 
me.  Come,  for  the  love  of  the  saints,  come,  recite 
them  for  me,  you  must  know  them  by  heart.  Come, 
darhng." 

To  this  vehement  entreaty  succeeded  a  passionate 
kiss,  pressed  on  the  hair  and  forehead  of  the  poet. 
The  latter  raised  his  eyes,  drew  back  a  little  and, 
holding  his  cigar  between  his  fingers  after  knocking 
off  the  ashes  with  his  nail,  proceeded  to  recite. 

The  offspring  of  his  muse  was  a  poem  in  imitation 
of  Becquer.  His  auditor,  who  listened  to  it  with 
religious  attention,  thought  it  superior  to  anything 
inspired  by  the  muse  of  the  great  Gustave.  And 
she  asked  for  another  and  then  another,  and  then  a 
bit  of  Espronceda  and  then  a  fragment  or  two  of 
Zorrilla.  By  this  time  the  cigar  had  gone  out ;  the 
poet  threv/  away  the  stump  and  lighted  a  fresh  one. 
Then  they  resumed  their  conversation. 

"Shall  we  have  supper  soon?" 

"Directly.     What  do  you  think  I  have  for  you?" 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea." 

'Think  of  what  you  like  best.  What  you  like 
best,  better  than  anything  else." 

"Bah!  You  know  that  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
provided  you  don't  give  me  anything  smoked  or 
greasy " 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  13 

"A  French  omelet!  You  couldn't  guess,  eh? 
Let  me  tell  you — I  found  the  receipt  in  a  book.  As 
I  had  heard  that  it  was  something  good  I  vv^anted  to 
try  it.  I  had  always  made  omelets  as  they  make 
them  here,  so  stiff,  that  you  might  throw  one  against 
the  wall  without  breaking  it.  But  this — I  think  it 
will  be  to  your  taste.  As  for  me,  I  don't  like  it 
much,  I  prefer  the  old  style.  I  showed  Flores  how 
to  make  it.  What  was  in  the  one  you  ate  at  the 
inn  at  Orense?     Chopped  parsley,  eh?" 

"No,  ham.  But  what  difference  does  it  make 
what  was  in  it?" 

"I'll  run  and  take  it  out  of  the  pantry  !  I  thought 
— the  book  says  parsley !     Wait,  wait." 

She  overturned  her  chair  in  her  haste.  An  instant 
later  the  jingling  of  her  keys  and  the  opening  and 
closing  of  a  couple  of  doors  were  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance. A  husky  voice  muttered  some  unintelligible 
words  in  the  kitchen.  In  two  minutes  she  was  back 
again. 

"Tell  me,  and  those  verses,  are  you  not  going  to 
publish  them?  Am  I  not  going  to  see  them  in 
print?" 

"Yes,"  responded  the  poet,  slowly  turning  his 
head  to  one  side  and  sending  a  puff  of  smoke 
through  his  lips.     "I  am  going  to  send  them  to  Vigo, 


14  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMOKTA. 

to    Roberto    Blanquez,    to     insert     them     in    the 
AmanecerT 

''I  am  delighted!  You  will  become  famous, 
sweetheart!  How  many  periodicals  have  spoken  of 
you? 

Segundo  laughed  ironically  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"Not  many."  And  with  a  somewhat  preoccupied 
air  he  let  his  gaze  wander  over  the  plants  and  far 
away  over  the  top  of  the  poplar  whose  leaves  rustled 
gently  in  the  breeze.  The  poet  pressed  his  com- 
panion's hand  mechanically,  and  the  latter  returned 
the  pressure  with  passionate  ardor. 

"Of  course.  How  do  you  expect  them  to  speak 
of  you  when  you  don't  put  your  name  to  your 
verses?"  she  said.  "They  don't  know  whose  they 
are.     They  are  wondering,  likely " 

"What  difference  does  the  name  make?  They 
could  say  the  same  things  of  the  pseudonym  I  have 
adopted  as  of  Segundo  Garcia.  The  few  people 
who  will  trouble  themselves  to  read  my  verses  will 
call  me  the  Swan  of  Vilamorta." 


II. 

Segundo  Garcia,  the  lawyer's  son,  and  Leocadia 
Otero,  the  schoohnistress  of  Vilamorta,  had  met  each 
other  for  the  first  time  in  the  spring  at  a  pilgrimage. 
Leocadia  had  gone  with  some  girls  to  whom  she  had 
taught  their  letters  and  plain  sewing.  Before  the 
chorus  of  nymphs  Segundo  had  recited  verses  for 
rrfbre  than  two  hours  in  an  oak  grove  far  from  the 
noise  of  the  drum  and  the  bagpipes,  where  the 
strains  of  the  music  and  the  voices  of  the  crowd 
came  softened  by  distance.  The  audience  was  as 
silent  as  if  they  were  hearing  mass,  although  certain 
passages  of  a  tender  or  passionate  nature  were  the 
occasion,  among  the  children,  of  nudges,  pinches, 
laughter  instantaneously  suppressed ;  but  from  the 
black  eyes  of  the  schoolmistress,  down  her  cheeks, 
pitted  by  the  smallpox  and  pale  with  emotion, 
flowed  two  large,  warm  tears,  followed  so  quickly 
and  in  such  abundance  by  others  that  she  was 
obliged  to  take  out  her  handkerchief  to  wipe  them 
away.  And  returning  by  starlight,  descending  the 
mountain  on  whose  summit  stood  the  sanctuary,  by 


1 6  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

sylvan  footpaths  carpeted  with  grass  and  bordered 
with  heather  and  briars,  the  order  of  march  was  as 
follows:  first  the  children,  running,  jumping,  push- 
ing one  another  among  the  heather  and  greeting 
every  fall  with  shouts  of  laughter;  Leocadia  and 
Segundo  behind,  arm-in-arm,  pausing  from  time  to 
time  to  talk  in  subdued  tones,  almost  in  whispers. 

A  sad  and  ugly  story  was  told  about  Leocadia 
Otero.  Although,  without  actually  saying  so,  she 
had  given  it  to  be  understood  that  she  was  a  widow, 
it  was  whispered  that  she  had  never  been  married ; 
that  the  puny  Dominguito,  the  little  cripple  \A\o 
was  always  sick,  was  born  while  she  lived  in  the 
house  of  her  uncle  and  guardian  at  Orense,  after  the 
death  of  her  parents.  What  was  certain  was  that 
her  uncle  had  died  shortly  after  the  birth  of  the 
child,  bequeathing  to  his  niece  a  couple  of  fields 
and  a  house  in  Vilamorta,  and  Leocadia,  after  pass- 
ing the  necessary  examinations,  had  obtained  the 
village  school  and  gone  to  settle  in  that  town.  She 
had  lived  in  it  now  for  more  than  thirteen  years, 
observing  the  most  exemplary  conduct,  watching  day 
and  night  over  Minguitos,  and  living  with  the  utmost 
frugality  in  order  to  rebuild  the  dilapidated  house, 
which  she  had  finally  succeeded  in  doing  shortly 
before  her  meeting  with  Segundo.     Leocadia  was  a 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  1 7 

woman  of  notably  industrious  habits;  in  her  ward- 
robe she  had  always  a  good  supply  of  linen,  in  her 
parlor  bamboo  furniture  with  a  rug  before  the  sofa, 
grapes,  rice,  and  ham  in  her  pantry,  and  carnations 
and  sweet  basil  in  her  windows.  Minguitos  was 
always  as  neat  as  a  new  pin ;  she  herself,  when  she 
raised  the  skirt  of  her  habit  of  Dolores,  of  good 
merino,  displayed  underneath  voluminous  embroid- 
ered petticoats,  stiff  with  starch.  For  all  which 
reasons,  notwithstanding  her  ugliness  and  her  former 
history,  the  schoolmistress  was  not  without  suitors  — 
a  wealthy  retired  muleteer,  and  Cansin,  the  clothier. 
She  rejected  the  suitors  and  continued  living  alone 
with  Minguitos  and  Flores,  her  old  servant,  who 
now  enjoyed  in  the  house  all  the  privileges  of  a 
grandmother. 

The  iniquitous  wrong  suffered  by  her  in  early 
youth  had  produced  in  Leocadia,  absorbed  as  she 
was  in  her  bitter  recollections,  a  profound  horror  of 
marriage  and  an  insatiable  thirst  for  the  romantic, 
the  ideal,  which  is  as  a  refreshing  dew  to  the  imagina- 
tion and  which  satisfies  the  emotions.  She  had  the 
superficial  knowledge  of  a  village  schoolmistress — 
rudimentary,  but  sufficient  to  introduce  exotic  tastes 
into  Vilamorta ;  that  is  to  say,  a  taste  for  literature  in 
its  most  accessible  forms — novels  and  poetry.     She 


1 8  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

devoted  to  reading  the  leisure  hours  of  her  monoto- 
nous and  upright  Hfe.  She  read  with  faith,  with 
enthusiasm,  uncritically ;  she  read  believing  and  ac- 
cepting everything,  identifying  herself  with  each  one 
of  the  heroines,  in  turn,  her  heart  echoing  back  the 
poet's  sighs,  the  troubadour's  songs,  and  the  laments 
of  the  bard.  Reading  was  her  one  vice,  her  secret 
happiness.  When  she  requested  her  friends  at 
Orense  to  renew  her  subscription  to  the  library  for 
her  they  laughed  at  her  and  nicknamed  her  the 
"Authoress."  She  an  authoress!  She  only  wished 
she  were.  If  she  could  only  give  form  to  what  she 
felt,  to  the  world  of  fancy  she  carried  in  her  mind ! 
But  this  was  impossible.  Never  would  her  brain 
succeed  in  producing,  however  hard  she  might 
squeeze  it,  even  so  much  as  a  poor  seguidilla. 
Poetry  and  sensibility  were  stored  up  in  the  folds 
and  convolutions  of  her  brain,  as  solar  heat  is  stored 
up  in  the  coal.  What  came  to  the  surface  was  pure 
prose — housekeeping,  economy,  stews. 

When  she  met  Segundo,  chance  applied  the  lighted 
torch  to  the  formidable  train  of  feelings  and  dreams 
shut  up  in  the  soul  of  the  schoolmistress.  She  had 
at  last  found  a  worthy  employment  for  her  amorous 
faculties,  an  outlet  for  her  affections.  Segundo  was 
poetry  incarnate.     He   represented   for  her  all  the 


THE  SWAN  OF  VlLAMORTA.  19 

graces,  all  the  divine  attributes  of  poetry — the  flow- 
ers, the  breeze,  the  nightingale,  the  dying  light  of 
day,  the  moon,  the  dark  wood. 

The  fire  burned  with  astounding  rapidity.  In  its 
flames  were  consumed,  first  her  honorable  resolution 
to  efface  by  the  blamelessness  of  her  conduct  the 
stigma  of  the  past,  then  her  strong  and  deep  maternal 
affection.  Not  for  an  instant  did  the  thought  pre- 
sent itself  to  Leocadia's  mind  that  Segundo  could 
ever  be  her  husband ;  although  both  were  free  the 
difference  in  their  ages  and  the  intellectual  superior- 
ity of  the  young  poet  placed  an  insurmountable  bar- 
rier in  the  way  of  the  aspirations  of  the  schoolmis- 
tress. She  fell  in  love  as  into  an  abyss,  and  looked 
neither  before  nor  behind. 

Segundo  had  had  in  Santiago,  during  his  college 
days,  youthful  intrigues,  adventures  of  a  not  very 
serious  nature,  such  as  few  men  escape  between  the 
ages  of  fifteen  and  twenty-five,  occasionally  taking 
part,  also,  in  what  in  that  romantic  epoch  were 
called  orgies.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  however, 
he  was  not  vicious.  The  son  of  a  hysterical  mother, 
whose  strength  was  exhausted  by  repeated  lacta- 
tions, and  who  at  last  succumbed  to  the  debility  in- 
duced by  them,  Segundo's  spirit  was  much  more 
exacting  and  insatiable  than  his  body.     He  had  in- 


20  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

herited  from  his  mother  a  melancholy  temperament 
and  innumerable  prejudices,  innumerable  instinctive 
antipathies,  innumerable  superstitious  practices.  He 
had  loved  her,  and  he  cherished  her  memory  with 
veneration.  And  more  tenacious  even  than  his  lov- 
ing remembrance  of  his  mother  was  the  invincible 
antipathy  he  cherished  for  his  father.  It  would  not 
be  true  to  say  that  the  lawyer  had  been  the  mur- 
derer of  his  wife,  and  yet  Segundo  clearly  divined  the 
slow  martyrdom  endured  by  that  fine  nervous  organ- 
ization, and  had  always  before  his  eyes,  in  his  hours 
of  orloom,  the  mean  coffin  in  which  the  dead  woman 
was  interred,  shrouded  in  the  oldest  sheet  that  was  to 
be  found. 

Segundo's  family  consisted  of  his  father,  an  aunt, 
advanced  in  years,  two  brothers,  and  three  sisters. 
The  lawyer  Garcia  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being 
wealthy — in  reality  this  fortune  was  insignificant — a 
village  fortune  accumulated  penny  by  penny,  by 
usurious  loans  and  innumerable  sordid  privations. 
His  practice  brought  him  in  something,  but  ten 
mouths  to  feed  and  the  professional  education  of 
three  sons  swallowed  up  not  a  little.  The  eldest  of 
the  boys,  an  officer  in  an  infantry  regiment,  was  sta- 
tioned in  the  Philippine  Islands,  and,  far  from  expect- 
ing any  money  from  him,  they  were  thankful  if  he 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  21 

did  not  ask  for  any.  Segundo,  the  second  in  age  as 
well  as  in  name,  had  just  been  graduated — one  law- 
yer more  in  Spain,  where  this  fruit  grows  so  abun- 
dantly. The  youngest  was  studying  at  the  Insti- 
tute at  Orense,  with  the  intention  of  becoming  an 
apothecary.  The  girls  spent  the  days  running  about 
in  the  gardens  and  cornfields,  half  the  time  bare- 
footed, not  even  attending  Leocadia's  school  to  save 
the  slight  expense  that  would  be  incurred  in  procur- 
ing the  decent  clothing  which  this  would  necessitate. 
As  for  the  aunt — Misia  Gaspara — she  was  the  soul 
of  the  house,  a  narrow  and  sapless  soul,  a  withered 
old  woman,  silent  and  ghost-like  in  appearance,  still 
active,  in  spite  of  her  sixty  years,  who,  without  ceas- 
ing to  knit  her  stockings  with  fingers  as  yellow  as 
the  keys  of  an  old  harpsichord,  sold  barley  in  the 
gran:iry,  wine  in  the  cellar,  lent  a  dollar  at  fifty  per 
cent,  interest  to  the  fruit-women  and  hucksters  of 
the  market,  receiving  their  wares  in  payment,  meas- 
ured out  the  food,  the  light,  and  their  clothing  to  her 
nieces,  fattened  a  pig  with  affectionate  solicitude, 
and  was  respected  in  Vilamorta  for  her  ant-like 
abilities. 

It  was  the  lawyer's  aspiration  to  transmit  his  prac- 
tice and  his  office  to  Segundo.  Only  the  boy  gave 
no  indication  of  an  aptitude  for  stirring  up  law-suits  ^ 


2  2  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

and  prosecutions.  How  had  he  achieved  the  miracle 
of  passing  with  honor  in  the  examinations  without 
eve^  having  opened  a  law-book  during  the  whole 
term,  and  failing  in  attendance  at  the  college  when- 
ever it  rained  or  whenever  the  sun  shone?  Well,  by 
y/  means  of  an  excellent  memory  and  a  good  natural 
intelligence ;  learning  by  heart,  when  it  was  necesi- 
sary,  whole  pages  from  the  text-books,  and  remem- 
bering and  reciting  them  with  the  same  ease,  if  not 
with  as  much  taste,  as  he  recited  the  "Doloras"  of 
Campoamor. 

On  Segundo's  table  lay,  side  by  side,  the  works  of 
Zorrilla  and  Espronceda,  bad  translations  of  Heine, 
books  of  verse  of  local  poets,  the  "Lamas-Varela,"  or, 
Antidote  to  Idleness,  and  other  volumes  of  a  no  less 
heterogeneous  kind.  Segundo  was  not  an  insatiable 
reader;  he  chose  his  reading  according  to  the  whim 
of  the  moment,  and  he  read  only  what  was  in  con- 
formity with  his  tastes,  thus  aquiring  a  superficial 
culture  of  an  imperfect  and  varied  nature.  Quick  of 
apprehension,  rather  than  thoughtful  or  studious,  he 
had  learned  French  without  a  teacher  and  almost  by 
intuition,  in  order  to  read  in  the  original  the  works 
of  Musset,  Lamartine,  Proudhon,  and  Victor  Hugo. 
His  mind  was  like  an  uncultivated  field  in  which 
grew  here  and  there  some  rare  and  beautiful  flower, 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  23 

some  exotic  plant ;  of  the  abstruse  and  positive 
sciences,  of  solid  and  serious  learning,  which  is  the 
nurse  of  mental  vigor — the  classics,  the  best  litera- 
ture, the  severe  teachings  of  history — he  knew  noth- 
ing ;  and  in  exchange,  by  a  singular  phenomenon  of  ' 
intellectual  relationship,  he  identified  himself  with 
the  romantic  movement  of  the  second  third  of  the 
century,  and  in  a  remote  corner  of  Galicia  lived 
again  the  psychological  life  of  dead  and  gone  gener- 
ations. So  does  some  venerable  academician,  over- 
leaping the  nineteen  centuries  of  our  era,  de- 
light himself  now  with  what  delighted  Horace  and 
live  platonically  enamored  of  Lydia. 

Segundo  composed  his  first  verses,  cynical  and 
pessimistic  in  intention,  ingenuous  in  reality,  before  .^ 
he  had  reached  the  age  of  seventeen.  His  class- 
mates applauded  him  to  the  echo.  He  acquired  in 
their  eyes  a  certain  prestige,  and  when  the  first  fruits 
of  his  muse  appeared  in  a  periodical  he  had,  without 
going  beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  the  college,  admir- 
ers and  detractors.  Thenceforth  he  acquired  the  right 
to  induge  in  solitary  walks,  to  laugh  rarely,  to  sur- 
round his  adventures  with  mystery,  and  not  to  play 
or  take  a  drink  for  good-fellowship's  sake  except 
when  he  felt  in  the  humor. 

And  he  seldom  felt  in  the  humor.     Excitation  of 


24  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

the  senses,  of  a  purely  physical  nature,  possessed  no 
attraction  for  him;  if  he  drank  at  times  through 
bravado,  the  spectacle  of  drunkenness,  the  winding- 
up  of  student  orgies — the  soiled  tablecloth,  the^ 
maudlin  disputes,  his  companions  lying  under  the 
table  or  stretched  on  the  sofa,  the  shamelessness 
and  heartlessness  of  venal  women — repelled  him  and 
he  came  away  from  such  scenes  filled  with  disgust 
and  contempt,  and  at  times  a  reaction  proper  to  his 
complex  character  sent  him,  a  sincere  admirer  of 
Proudhon,  Quinet,  and  Renan,  to  the  precincts  of 
some  solitary  church,  where  he  drew  in  with  delight 
long  breaths  of  the  incense-laden  air. 

The  lawyer  Garcia  made  no  protest  against  his 
son's  literary  inclinations  because  he  regarded  them 
as  a  passing  amusement  proper  to  his  age,  a  youth- 
ful folly,  like  dancing  at  a  village  feast.  He  began 
to  grow  uneasy  when  he  saw  that  Segundo,  after 
graduation,  showed  no  inclination  to  help  him  in  the 
conduct  of. his  tortuous  law-suits.  Was  the  boy, 
then,  going  to  turn  out  good  for  nothing  but  to 
string  rhymes  together?  It  was  no  crime  to  do  this, 
but — when  there  was  not  a  pile  of  law-papers  to  go 
through  and  stratagems  to  think  of  to  circumvent 
the  opposing  party.  Since  the  lawyer  had  observed 
this  inclination  of  his  son  he  had  treated  him  with 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  25 

more  persistent  harshness  and  coldness  than  before. 
Every  day  at  table  or  whenever  the  occasion  offered, 
he  made  cutting  speeches  to  him  about  the  neces- 
sity of  earning  one's  own  bread  by  assiduous  labor, 
instead  of  depending  upon  others  for  it.  These  con- 
tinual sermons,  in  which  he  displayed  the  same  cap-  y 
tious  and  harassing  obstinacy  as  in  the  conduct  of 
his  law-suits,  frightened  Segundo  from  the  house.  In 
Leocadia's  house  he  found  a  place  of  refuge,  and  he 
submitted  passively  to  be  adored ;  flattered  in  the 
first  place  by  the  triumph  his  verses  had  obtained, 
awakening  admiration  so  evidently  sincere  and  ar- 
dent, and  in  the  second  place  attracted  by  the  moral 
well-being  engendered  by  unquestioning  approval 
and  unmeasured  complacency.  His  idle,  dreamy 
brain  reposed  on  the  soft  cushions  which  affection 
smoothes  for  the  beloved  head ;  Leocadia  sympa- 
thized with  all  his  plans  for  the  future,  developing 
and  enlarging  them ;  she  encouraged  him  to  write 
and  to  publish  his  verses ;  she  praised  him  without 
reserve  and  without  hypocrisy,  for,  for  her,  whose 
critical  faculty  was  situated  in  her  cardiac  cavities, 
Segundo  was  the  most  melodious  singer  in  the  uni- 
verse. 

Gradually  the  loving  prevision  of  the  schoolmis- 
tress extended  to  other  departments  of  Segundo's 


26  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

existence.  Neither  the  lawyer  Garcia  nor  Aunt 
Gaspara  supposed  that  a  young  man,  once  his  educa- 
tion was  finished,  needed  a  penny  for  any  extraor- 
dinary expense.  Aunt  Gaspara,  in  particular,  pro- 
tested loudly  at  every  fresh  outlay — after  fiUing  her 
nephew's  trunk  one  year  she  thought  he  was  pro- 
vided with  shirts  for  at  least  ten  years  to  come : 
clothes  had  no  right  to  tear  or  to  wear  out,  without 
any  consideration,  in  that  way.  Leocadia  took  note 
of  the  wants  of  her  idol ;  one  day  she  observed  that 
he  was  not  well  supplied  with  handkerchiefs  and  she 
hemmed  and  marked  a  dozen  for  him ;  the  next  day 
she  noticed  that  he  was  expected  to  keep  himself  in 
cigars  for  a  year  on  half  a  dollar,  and  she  took  upon 
herself  the  task  of  making  them  for  him,  furnishing 
the  material  herself  gratis.  She  heard  the  fruit- 
women  criticising  Aunt  Gaspara's  stinginess;  she 
inferred  from  this  that  Segundo  had  a  poor  table, 
and  she  set  herself  to  the  task  of  devising  appetizing 
and  nutritious  dishes  for  him ;  in  addition  to  all 
which  she  ordered  bot)ks  from  Orense,  mended  his 
clothes,  and  sewed  on  his  buttons. 

All  this  she  did  with  inexpressible  delight,  going 
about  the  house  with  a  light,  almost  youthful  step, 
reju\  enated  by  the  sweet  maternity  of  love,  and  so 
happy  that  she  forgot  to  scold  the  school-children, 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  27 

thinking  only  of  shortening  their  tasks  that  she 
might  be  all  the  sooner  with  Segundo.  There  was 
in  her  affection  much  that  was  generous  and  spiritual, 
and  her  happiest  moments  were  those  in  which,  as 
they  sat  side  by  side  at  the  window,  his  head  resting 
on  her  shoulder,  she  listened,  while  her  imagination 
transformed  the  pots  of  carnations  and  sweet  basil 
into  a  virgin  forest,  to  the  verses  which  he  recited 
in  a  well-modulated  voice,  verses  that  seemed  to 
Leocadia  celestial  music. 

The  medal  had  its  obverse  side,  however.  The 
mornings  were  full  of  bitterness  when  Flores  would 
come  with  an  angry  and  frowning  face,  her  woolen 
shawl  twisted  and  wrinkled  and  falling  over  her  eyes, 
to  say  in  short,  abrupt  phrases : 

"The  eggs  are  all  used;  shall  I  get  more?  There 
is  no  sugar;  which  kind  shall  I  buy — that  dear  loaf 
sugar  that  we  bought  last  week?  To-day  I  got  cof- 
fee, two  pounds  of  coffee,  as  if  we  had  a  gold  mine. 
I  won't  buy  any  more  cordial — you  can  go  for  it 
yourself — I  won't." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Flores?  What  is 
the  matter  with  you?" 

*T  say  that  if  you  like  to  give  Ramon,  the  confec- 
tioner, twenty-four  reals  a  bottle  for  anisette,  when 
it  is  to  be  had  for  eight  at  the  apothecary's,  you  can 


28  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

do  SO,  but  that  I  am  not  going  to  put  the  money  in 
that  thief's  hand ;  he  will  be  asking  you  five  dollars 
a  bottle  for  it  next." 

Leocadia  would  come  out  of  her  reverie  with  a 
sigh,  and  go  to  the  bureau  drawer  for  the  money, 
not  without  thinking'that  Flores  was  only  too  right ; 
her  savings,  her  couple  of  thousand  reals  laid  by  for 
an  emergency,  must  be  almost  gone ;  it  was  better 
not  to  examine  into  the  condition  of  the  purse;  bet- 
ter put  off  annoyances  as  long  as  possible.  God 
would  provide.  And  she  would  scold  the  old 
woman  with  feigned  anger. 

"Go  for  the  bottle;  go — and  don't  make  me 
angry.  At  eight  the  children  Avill  be  here  and  I  have 
my  petticoat  to  iron  yet.  Make  Minguitos  his  choc- 
olate ;  you  would  be  better  employed  in  seeing  that 
he  has  something  to  eat.     And  give  him  some  cake." 

"Yes.     I'll  give  him  some,  I'll  give  him  some.     If 

I  didn't  give  the  poor  child  something "  grumbled 

the  servant,  who  at  Minguitos'  name  felt  her  anger 
increase.  In  the  kitchen  could  be  heard  the  furious 
knock  given  to  the  chocolate-pot  to  settle  it  on  the 
fire  and  the  angry  sound  of  the  mill,  afterward,  beat- 
ing the  chocolate  into  froth.  Flores  would  enter 
the  room  of  the  deformed  boy,  who  had  not  yet  left 
his  bed,  and  taking  his  hand  in  hers,  say : 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  29 

"Are  you  warm,  child?  I  have  brought  you  your 
chocolate;  do  you  hear?" 

"Will  mamma  give  it  to  me?" 

"I  will  give  it  to  you." 

"And  mamma — what  is  she  doing?" 

"Ironing  some  petticoats." 

The  little  humpback  would  fix  his  eyes  on  Flores, 
raising  his  head  with  difificulty  from  between  the 
double  arch  of  the  breast  and  back.  His  eyes  were 
deep  set,  with  large  pupils ;  on  his  mouth,  with  its 
prominent  jaws,  rested  a  melancholy  and  distorted 
smile.  Throwing  his  arms  around  the  neck  of  Flores, 
and  putting  his  lips  close  to  her  ear: 

"Did  the  otJier  one  come  yesterday?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  child,  yes." 

"Will  he  come  again  to-day?" 

"He'll  come.  Of  course  he'll  come!  Stop  talk- 
ing, fillino,  stop  talking  and  take  your  chocolate. 
It's  as  you  like  it — thin  and  with  froth." 

"I  don't  think  I  have  any  appetite  for  it.  Put  it 
there  beside  me." 


III. 

In  Vilamorta  there  was  a  Casino,  a  real  Casino, 
small  indeed,  and  shabby,  besides,  but  with  its 
billiard-table,  bought  at  second-hand,  and  its  boy,  an 
old  man  of  seventy,  who  once  a  year  dusted  and 
brushed  the  green  cover.  For  the  only  reunions  in 
the  Casino  of  Vilamorta  were  those  of  the  rats  and 
the  moths  who  assembled  daily,  to  amuse  them, 
selves  by  eating  away  the  woodwork.  The  chief 
centers  of  reunion  were  the  two  apothecaries'  shops, 
that  of  Dona  Eufrasia,  fronting  the  Plaza  and  that 
of  Agonde  in  the  high  street.  Dona  Eufrasia's 
shop,  nestling  in  the  shadowy  corner  of  an  archway, 
was  dark ;  in  the  hours  of  meeting  it  was  lighted  by 
a  smoky  kerosene  lamp;  its  furniture  consisted  of 
four  grimy  chairs  and  a  bench. 

From  the  street  all  that  was  to  be  seen  were  dark 
mass-cloaks,  overcoats,  broad-brimmed  hats,  two  or 
three  clerical  tonsures  that  shone  at  a  distance  like 
metal  clasps  against  the  dark  background  of  the  shop. 
Agonde's  shop,  on  the  contrary,  was  brightly  illumi- 
nated and  gloried  in  the  possession  of  six  glass  globes 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  31 

of  brilliant  coloring  and  fantastic  effect,  three  rows 
of  shelves  laden  with  imposing  and  scientific-looking 
white  porcelain  jars  bearing  Latin  inscriptions  in 
black  letters,  a  divan,  and  two  leather-covered  arm- 
chairs. The  two  contrasting  shops  were  also  antag- 
onistic ;  they  had  declared  war  to  the  knife  against 
each  other. 

Agonde's  shop,  liberal  and  enlightened  in  its  opin- 
ions, said  of  the  reactionary  shop  that  it  was  a  cen- 
ter of  unending  conspiracies,  where  El  Cuartel  Real 
and  all  the  rebel  proclamations  had  been  read  during 
the  civil  war,  and  where  for  the  past  five  years  am- 
munition-belts were  being  diligently  prepared  for  a 
Carlist  party  that  never  took  the  field ;  and  accord- 
ing to  the  reactionary  shop,  that  of  Agonde  was  the 
headquarters  of  the  Freemasons ;  where  lampoons 
were  printed  on  a  little  handpress  and  where  gam- 
bling was  shamelessly  carried  on.  The  meetings  in 
the  reactionary  shop  broke  up  with  religious  punctu- 
ality at  ten,  in  winter,  and  eleven  in  summer,  while 
the  liberal  shop  continued  to  cast  on  the  sidewalk 
until  midnight  the  light  of  its  two  bright  lamps  and 
the  blue,  red,  and  emerald-green  reflections  of  its  glass 
globes ;  for  which  reasons  the  members  of  the  liberal 
reunion  called  those  of  the  other  party  owls,  while 
those  of  the  reactionary  clique  gave  their  opponents 


32  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

the  name  of  members  of  the  Casino  of  the  Gaming 
Table. 

Segundo  never  put  his  foot  over  the  threshold  of 
the  reactionary  shop  and,  since  the  beginning  of  his 
acquaintance  with  Leocadia  Otero,  he  had  shunned 
that  of  Agonde  also,  for  his  vanity  was  wounded  by 
the  jests  and  gibes  of  the  apothecary,  who  was  noted 
for  his  waggish  humor.  One  evening  as  Saturnino 
Agonde  was  crossing  the  Plaza  of  the  Alamo  at  an 
unusually  late  hour — on  his  way  the  devil  only  knew 
whither — he  had  caught  sight  of  Leocadia  and 
Segundo  seated  at  the  window,  and  had  heard  the 
psalmody  of  the  verses  which  the  poet  was  declaim- 
ing. From  that  time  Segundo  had  seen  depicted  on 
the  countenance  of  Agonde,  a  practical  man  of  a 
sanguine  temperament,  such  contempt  for  senti- 
mental trifling  and  for  poetry  that  he  instinctively 
avoided  him  as  far  as  it  was  possible  to  do  so.  Oc- 
casionally, however,  whenever  he  desired  to  read  El 
Iniparcial,  to  know  what  was  going  on,  he  would 
stop  in  at  the  shop  for  a  few  moments.  He  did  so 
on  the  day  after  his  conversation  with  the  echo. 

The  meeting  was  very  animated.  Segundo's 
father  was  leaning  back  on  the  sofa  with  a  news- 
paper resting  on  his  knees ;  his  brother-in-law,  the 
notary    Genday,    Ramon,    the     confectioner,    and 


THE  SIVAX  OF  V/LAMORTA.  ZS 

Agonde  were  hotly  disputini^  with  him.  At  the 
further  end  of  the  shop  Carmelo,  the  tobacconist, 
Don  Fermin,  ahas  Tropiezo,^  the  physician,  the  secre- 
tary of  the  Municipality  and  the  Alcalde  sat  playing 
tresillo  at  a  small  table.  When  Segundo  entered,  he 
remarked  something  unusual  in  the  air  of  his  father 
and  of  the  group  that  surrounded  him,  but  certain 
that  he  would  presently  be  told  the  cause,  he 
silently  dropped  into  an  armchair,  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  took  up  the  copy  of  El  Imparcial  that  was 
lying  on  the  counter. 

"Well,  the  papers  here  say  nothing,  absolutely 
nothing,  about  it,"  exclaimed  the  confectioner. 

From  the  tresillo  table  came  the  voice  of  the  doc- 
tor confirming  Ramon's  doubts  ;  the  doctor,  too,  was 
of  the  opinion  that  the  event  in  question  could  not 
happen  without  due  notice  of  it  being  given  in  the 
papers. 

**You  would  die  rather  than  believe  anything," 
replied  Agonde.  "I  am  certain  of  it,  I  tell  you,  and 
it  seems  to  me  that  when  I  am  certain  of  it " 

"And  I  too,"  affirmed  Genday.  "If  it  is  necessary 
to  call  witnesses  to  prove  it,  they  are  there.  I  know 
it  from  my  own  brother,  who  heard  it  from  Mendez 
de  las  Vides;  you  can  judge  whether  I  have  the 

'  Trip. 


34  THE  SWAy  OF  VILAMORTA. 

news  on  good  authority  or  not.  Do  you  want  fur- 
ther proof?  Well,  two  armchairs,  a  handsome  gilt 
bedstead,  a  great  deal  of  china  and  a  piano  have 
been  ordered  from  Orense  for  Las  Vides.  Are  you 
convinced?" 

"In  any  case  they  will  not  come  as  soon  as  you 
say,"  objected  Tropiezo. 

"They  will  come  at  the  time  I  have  said.  Don 
Victoriano  wants  to  spend  the  holidays  and  the  vin- 
tage season  here ;  they  say  he  longs  to  see  his  na- 
tive place  again,  and  that  he  has  spoken  of  nothing 
all  the  winter  but  the  journey." 

"He  is  coming  to  die  here,"  said  Tropiezo;  "I 
heard  that  he  was  in  a  very  bad  state  of  health. 
You  are  going  to  be  left  without  a  leader." 

.  "Go  to What  a  devil  of  a  man,  what  an  owl, 

always  predicting  misfortunes  I  Either  hold  your 
tongue,  or  talk  sense.  Attend  to  the  game,  as  you 
ought  to." 

Segundo  was  gazing  abstractedly  at  the  glass 
globes  of  the  shop,  his  attention  seemingly  occupied 
with  the  blue,  green,  and  red  points  of  light  that 
sparkled  in  their  center.  He  understood  now  the 
subject  of  their  conversation — the  expected  arrival 
of  Don  Victoriano  Andres  de  la  Comba,  the  minis- 
ter, the    great  political    leader  of   the  country,  the 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  35 

radical  representative  of  the  district.  What  mat- 
tered to  Segundo  the  arrival  of  this  pretentious 
coxcomb  !  And  giving  himself  up  to  the  enjoyment 
of  his  cigar,  he  allowed  the  noisy  dispute  to  .go  on 
unheeded.  Afterward  he  became  absorbed  in  the^ 
reading  of  an  article  in  El  Imparcial,  in  which  a  new 
poet  was  warmly  eulogized. 

Meanwhile  at  the  tresillo  table  matters  were  be- 
coming complicated.  The  apothecary,  who  sat 
behind  the  Alcalde,  was  giving  him  advice — a  deli- 
cate and  difficult  task. 

The  tobacconist  and  Don  Fermin  held  all  the 
good  cards ;  they  had  the  man  between  them — a 
ticklish  position.  The  Alcalde  was  a  thin  shriveled- 
up  old  man,  of  a  very  timid  disposition,  who,  be- 
fore he  ventured  to  play  a  card,  would  think  a  hun- 
dred years  about  it,  calculating  all  the  contingencies 
and  all  the  possible  combinations  of  which  cards  are 
capable.  He  did  not  want  now  to  play  that  solo.  It 
would  be  a  great  mistake!  But  the  impetuous 
Agonde  encouraged  him,  saying  :  "Come !  I  buy  it." 
Thus  urged,  the  Alcalde  came  to  a  decision,  but  not 
without  having  first  entered  a  protest : 

''Very  well,  I'll  play  it,  but  it  is  a  piece  of  folly, 
gentlemen — so  that  you  may  not  say  I  am    afraid." 

And  all  that  he  had  foreseen  happened ;  he  found 


36  TFJE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

himself  between  two  fires :  on  the  one  side  his  king 
of  hearts  is  trumped,  on  the  other  his  opponent 
takes  his  knave  of  trumps  with  his  queen.  Don 
Fermin  wins  the  trick  without  knowing  how,  while 
the  tobacconist,  who  is  smiling  maliciously,  keeps  all 
his  good  cards.  The  Alcalde  lifts  his  eyes  appeal- 
ingly  to  Agonde. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  so?  A  nice  fix  we  have  got 
ourselves  into !  We  shall  lose  the  hand ;  it  is  lost 
already." 

"No,  man,  no.  What  a  coward  you  are — always 
afraid  of  everything.  There  you  are  hesitating  as 
long  about  throwing  a  card  as  if  your  life  depended 
on  it.  Play  a  trump!  play  a  trump  I  That  is  the 
way  cowards  always  lose — they  are  afraid  to  play 
their  trumps." 

The  opponents  winked  at  each  other  maliciously. 

"De posita  non  tihi^'  exclaimed  the  tobacconist. 

''Si  codillum  non  resiiltabit^'  assented  Don 
Fermin. 

The  Alcalde,  quaking  with  fear,  proceeded,  by 
Agonde's  advice,  to  look  through  the  tricks  his 
partners  had  taken,  in  order  to  see  how  many  trumps 
had  been  already  played.  Tropiezo  and  the  tobac- 
conist protested  : 

What  a  mania  he  had  for  examining  the  cards ! 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  37 

The  Alcalde,  somewhat  tranquillized,  resolved  at 
last  to  put  an  end  to  his  uncertainty,  and  with  a  few 
bold  and  decisive  plays  the  hand  ended,  each  player 
winning  three  tricks. 

"A  tie !"  exclaimed  the  tobacconist  and  the 
apothecary  almost  simultaneously. 

"You  see !  Playing  as  badly  as  you  could  you 
haven't  lost  the  hand,"  said  Agonde.  ''They  needed 
all  their  cards  to  win  what  they  did." 

They  were  all  absorbed  in  the  game — whose  inter- 
est was  now  at  its  height — with  the  exception  of 
Segundo,  who  had  abandoned  himself  to  one  of  those 
idle  reveries  in  which*  the  activity  of  the  imagination 
is  stimulated  by  bodily  ease.  The  voices  of  the 
players  reached  his  ears  like  a  distant  murmur;  he 
was  a  hundred  leagues  away ;  he  was  thinking  of  the 
article  he  had  just  been  reading,  of  which  certain 
expressions  particularly  encomiastic — mellifluous 
phrases  in  which  the  critic  artfully  glossed  over  the 
faults  of  the  poet — had  remained  stamped  on  his 
memory.  When  would  his  turn  come  to  be  judged 
by  the  Madrid  press?  God  alone  knew.  He  lent 
his  attention  once  more  to  the  conversation. 

"We  must  at  least  give  him  a  serenade,"  declared 
Genday. 

"A  serenade,  indeed!"    responded   Agonde.     "A 


3^  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

great  thing  that !  Something  more  than  a  serenade 
— we  must  have  some  sort  of  a  procession — a  demon- 
stration which  will  show  that  the  people  here  are 
with  him.  We  must  appoint  a  committee  to 
receive  him  with  rockets  and  bands  of  music.  Let 
those  plotters  at  Dona  Eufrasia's  have  something  to 
rage  about." 

The  name  of  the  other  shop  produced  a  storm  of 
exclamations,  jests,  and  stamping  of  feet. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  asked  the  waggish 
Tropiezo.  "It  seems  that  Nocedal  has  written  a 
very  flattering  letter  to  Dona  Eufrasia,  saying  that  as 
he  represents  Don  Carlos  in  Madrid  so  she,  by  rea- 
son of  her  merits,  ought  to  represent  him  in  Vila- 
morta." 

Homeric  bursts  of  laughter  and  a  general  huzza 
greeted  this  remark. 

"Well,  that  may  be  an  invention ;  but  it  is  true, 
true  as  gospel,  that  Dona  Eufrasia  sent  Don  Carlos 
her  likeness  with  a  complimentary  inscription." 

"And  the  regiment?  Have  they  fixed  on  the  day 
on  which  it  is  to  take  the  field?" 

"Of  course.  They  say  that  the  Abbot  of  Lubrego 
is  to  command  it." 

The  hilarity  of  the  assembly  was  redoubled,  for 
the  Abbot  of  Lubrego  was  nearing   his  seventieth 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  39 

year,  and  was  so  feeble  that  he  could  scarcely  hold 
himself  on  his  mule.  A  boy  at  this  moment  entered 
the  shop,  swinging  in  his  hand  a  glass  bottle. 

"Don  Saturnino!"  he  cried,  in  a  shrill  voice. 

"What  is  it  you  want?"  answered  the  druggist, 
mimicking  his  tones. 

"Give  me  some  of  what  this  smells  like." 

"All  right,"  said  Agonde,  putting  the  bottle  to 
his  nose.     "What  does  this  smell  like,  Don  Fermin?" 

"Let  me  see — it  smells  something  like — laudanum, 
eh? — or  arnica?" 

"Arnica  let  it  be,  it  is  less  dangerous.  I  hope  it 
will  have  a  good  effect." 

"It  is  time  to  retire,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Lawyer 
Garcia,  consulting  his  silver  timepiece. 

Genday  stood  up  and  Segundo  followed  his  exam- 
ple. 

The  tresillo  party  proceeded  to  settle  accounts ;  cal- 
culating winnings  and  losses,  centavo  by  centavo.  by 
means  of  white  counters  and  yellow  counters.  After 
the  close  atmosphere  of  the  shop  the  cool  air  of  the 
street  was  grateful;  the  night  was  mild  and  clear; 
the  stars  shone  with  a  friendly  light  and  Segundo, 
who  was  quick  to  perceive  the  poetic  aspect  of 
things,  felt  tempted  to  leave  his  father  and  his  uncle 
without  ceremony  and  walk  along  the  road,  alone, 


46  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

according  to  his  custom,  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the 
night.  But  his  Uncle  Genday  linked  his  arm 
through  his,  saying : 

'*You  are  to  be  congratulated,  my  boy." 

"Congratulated,  uncle?" 

"Weren't  you  crazy  to  get  away  from  here? 
Didn't  you  want  to  take  your  flight  to  some  other 
place?     Haven't  you  a  hatred  for  office  work?" 

"Good  man,"  interposed  the  lawyer;  "he  is  crazy 
enough  as  it  is,  and.  you  want  to  unsettle  his  mind 
still  more " 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool!  Don  Victoriano  is 
coming  here,  we  will  present  the  boy  to  him  and  ask 
him  to  give  him  a  place.  And  he  will  give  him  one, 
and  a  good  one  too  ;  for  whether  he  thinks  so  or  not, 
if  he  does  not  do  what  we  ask  him,  the  pancake  will 
cost  him  a  loaf.  The  district  is  not  what  he  imag- 
ines it  to  be,  and  if  his  adherents  do  not  keep  their 
eyes  open  the  clergy  will  play  a  trick  upon  them." 

"And  Primo?     And  Mendez  de  las  Vides?" 

"They  are  no  match  for  the  priest.  The  day 
least  expected  they  will  be  made  a  show  of;  they 
will  hang  their  heads  for  shame.  But  you,  my  boy — 
think  well  about  it.  You  are  not  in  love  with  the 
law?" 

Segundo    shrugged    his   shoulders  with    a  smile. 


THE  SWAM  OF  VILAMORTA.  41 

"Well,  turn  the  matter  over  in  your  mind ;  think 
what  would  suit  you  best.  For  you  must  be  some- 
thing; you  must  stick  your  head  in  somewhere. 
Would  you  like  a  justiceship?  a  place  in  the  post- 
office?  in  one  of  the  departments?" 

They  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  Plaza  on  their 
way  to  Garcia's  house  and  were  passing  under  Leo- 
cadia's  window  when  the  fragrance  of  the  carnations 
penetrated  to  Segundo's  brain.  He  felt  a  poetic 
revulsion  of  feeling  and,  dilating  his  nostrils  to  inhale 
the  perfume,  he  exclaimed : 

"Neither  justice  nor  post-office  employee.  Say 
no  more  on  that  point,  uncle." 

"Don't  insist,  Clodio,"  said  the  lawyer  bitterly. 
"He  wants  to  be  nothing,  nothing  but  a  downright 
idler,  to  spend  his  life  scribbling  rhymes.  Neither 
more  nor  less.  The  money  must  be  handed  out  for 
the  Institute,  the  University,  the  shirt-front,  the 
frock  coat,  the  polished  boots,  and  then,  when  one 
thinks  they  are  ready  to  do  for  themselves,  back 
they  come,  to  be  a  burden  to  one,  to  smoke  and  to 
eat  at  one's  expense.  I  have  three  sons  to  spend  my 
money,  to  squeeze  me  dry,  and  not  one  to  give  me 
any  help.  That  is  all  these  young  gentlemen  are 
good  for." 

Segundo  stopped,  twisting  the  end   of  his  mus- 


42  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

tache,  with  a  frown  on  his  face.  They  all  stood  still 
at  the  corner  of  the  little  plaza,  as  people  are  wont 
to  do  when  a  conversation  changes  to  a  dispute. 

"I  don't  know  what  puts  that  into  your  head, 
father,"  declared  the  poet.  "Do  you  suppose  that  I 
propose  to  myself  never  to  be  anything  more  than 
Segundo  Garcia,  the  lawyer's  son?  If  you  do,  you 
are  greatly  mistaken.  You  may  be  very  anxious  to 
be  rid  of  the  burden  of  supporting  me,  but  you  are 
not  half  as  anxious  as  I  am  to  relieve  you  of  it." 

"Well,  then,  what  are  you  waiting  for?  Your 
uncle  is  proposing  a  variety  of  things  to  you  and 
none  of  them  suits  you.  Do  you  want  to  begin  by 
being  Minister?" 

The  poet  began  to  twist  his  mustache  anew. 

"There  is  no  use  in  being  impatient,  father.  I 
would  make  a  very  bad  post-office  clerk  and  a  still 
worse  justice.  I  don't  want  to  tie  myself  down  to 
any  fixed  career,  in  which  everything  is  arranged 
beforehand  and  moves  by  routine.  In  that  case  I 
should  be  a  lawyer  like  you  or  a  notary  like  Uncle 
Genday.  If  we  really  find  Don  Victoriano  disposed 
to  do  anything  for  me,  ask  some  position — no  mat- 
ter what — without  fixed  duties,  that  will  enable  me 
to  reside  in  Madrid.     I  will  take  care  of  the  rest." 

"You  will  take  care  of  the  rest.     Yes,  ves,  vou  sav 


THE  SWAN'  OF  VILAMORTA.  43 

well.  You  will  draw  upon  me  for  little  sums,  eh? 
like  your  brother  in  the  Philippine  Islands.  Let 
me  tell  you  for  your  guidance,  then,  that  you  needn't 
do  so.  I  didn't  steal  what  I  have,  and  I  don't  coin 
money." 

"I  am  not  asking  anything  from  you !"  cried 
Segundo,  in  a  burst  of  savage  anger.  "Am  I  in 
your  way?  I  will  get  out  of  it,  then;  I  will  go  to 
America.     That  ends  it." 

"No,"  said  the  lawyer,  calming  down.  "Provided 
you  exact  no  more  sacrifices  from  me." 

"Not  one!  not  if  I  were  starving!" 

The  lawyer's  door  opened  ;  old  Aunt  Gaspara  in 
her  petticoat,  looking  like  a  fright,  had  come  to  let 
them  in.  Tied  around  her  head  w^as  a  cotton  hand- 
kerchief which  came  so  far  over  her  face  as  almost  to 
conceal  her  sour  features.  Segundo  drew  back  at 
this  picture  of  domestic  life. 

"Aren't  you  coming  in?"  asked  his  father. 

"I  am  going  with  Uncle  Genday." 

"Are  you  coming  back  soon?" 

"Directly." 

Walking  down  the  square  he  communicated  his 
plans  to  Genday.  The  latter,  a  short  man,  with  a 
fiery  temper,  signified  his  approbation  by  movements 
quick  and  restless  as  those  of  a  lizard.     His  nephew's 


44  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

ideas  were  not  displeasing  to  him.  His  active, 
scheming  mind,  the  mind  of  an  electoral  agent  and  a 
clever  notary,  accepted  vast  projects  more  readily 
than  the  methodical  mind  of  the  lawyer  Garcia. 
Uncle  and  nephew  were  much  of  the  same  way  of 
thinking  as  to  the  best  manner  of  profiting  by  Don 
Victoriano's  influence ;  conversing  in  this  way  they 
reached  Genday's  house,  and  the  servant  of  the  lat- 
ter— a  fresh-looking  girl — opened  the  door  for  her 
master  with  all  the  flattering  obsequiousness  of  a 
confirmed  old  bachelor's  maid-servant.  Instead  of 
returning  home  Segundo,  preoccupied  and  excited, 
walked  down  the  plaza  to  the  highroad,  stopped  at 
the  first  clump  of  chestnut  trees  he  came  to,  and  seat- 
ing himself  on  the  step  of  a  wooden  cross  which  the 
Jesuits  had  erected  there  during  the  last  mission, 
gave  himself  up  to  the  harmless  diversion  of  contem- 
plating the  evening  star,  the  constellations,  and  all 
the  splendors  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 


IV. 

During  the  tiresome  siestas  of  Vilamorta,  while 
the  visitors  to  the  springs  digested  their  glasses  of 
mineral  water  and  compensated  themselves  for  the 
loss  of  their  morning  sleep  by  a  restorative  nap,  the 
amateur  musicians  of  the  popular  band  practiced 
by  themselves  the  pieces  they  were  shortly  to  exe- 
cute together.  From  the  shoemaker's  shop  came 
the  melancholy  notes  of  a  flute ;  in  the  baker's  re- 
sounded the  lively  and  martial  strains  of  the  horn ; 
in  the  tobacconist's  moaned  a  clarionet ;  in  the  cloth- 
shop,  the  suppressed  sighs  of  an  ophicleide  filled  the 
air.  Those  who  thus  devoted  themselves  to  the 
worship  of  Euterpe  were  clerks  in  shops,  younger 
sons,  the  youthful  element  of  Vilamorta.  These 
snatches  of  melody  rose  with  piercing  sonorousness 
on  the  drowsy  warm  atmosphere.  When  the  news 
spread  that  Don  Victoriano  Andres  de  la  Comba  and 
his  family  were  expected  to  arrive  within  twenty- 
four  hours  in  the  town,  to  leave  it  again  immedi- 
ately for  Las  Vides,  the  brass  band  was  tuned  to  the 
highest  pitch  and  ready  to  deafen,  with  any  number 


46  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

of  waltzes,  dances,  and   quicksteps,  the   ears  of  the 
illustrious  statesman. 

In  the  town  an  unusual  animation  was  noticeable. 
Agonde's  house  was  opened,  ventilated,  and  swept, 
clouds  of  dust  issuing  through  the  windows,  at  one 
of  which,  later  on,  appeared  Agonde's  sister,  with  a 
fringe  of  hair  over  her  forehead  and  wearing  a  pearl- 
shell  necklace.  The  housekeeper  of  the  parish  priest 
of  Cebre,  a  famous  cook,  w^ent  busily  about  the 
kitchen,  and  the  pounding  of  the  mortar  and  the 
sizzling  of  oil  could  be  heard.  Two  hours  before 
the  time  of  the  arrival  of  the  stage-coach  from 
Orense,  that  is  to  say  at  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, the  committee  of  the  notabilities  of  the  Com- 
bista-radical  party  were  already  crossing  the  plaza, 
and  Agonde  stood  waiting  on  the  threshold  of  his 
shop,  having  sacrificed  to  the  solemnity  of  the  occa- 
sion his  classic  cap  and  velvet  slippers,  and  wearing 
patent-leather  boots  and  a  frock  coat  which  made 
him  look  more  bull-necked  and  pot-bellied  than  ever. 
The  coach  from  Orense  was  entering  the  town  from 
the  side  next  the  wood,  and,  at  the  tinkling  of  the 
bells,  the  clatter  of  the  hoofs  of  its  eight  mules  and 
ponies,  the  creaking  of  its  unwieldy  bulk,  the  inhab- 
itants of  Vilamorta  looked  out  of  their  windows  and 
came  to  their  doors;  the  reactionary  shop  only  re- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  47 

mained  closed  and  hostile.  When  the  cumbrous 
vehicle  turned  into  the  square  the  excitement  in- 
creased ;  barefooted  children  climbed  on  the  coach 
steps,  begging  an  ockavo  in  whining  accents ;  the 
fruit-women  sitting  in  the  arches  straightened  them- 
selves up  to  obtain  a  better  view,  and  only  Cansin, 
the  clothier,  his  hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  his 
feet  thrust  into  slippers,  continued  walking  up  and 
down  his  shop  with  an  Olympic  air  of  indifference. 
The  overseer  reined  in  the  team,  saying  in  soothing 
accents  to  a  rebellious  mule: 

**E-e-e-e-e-e-h  !  There,  there,  Canoniga." 
The  brass  band,  drawn  up  before  the  town-hall, 
burst  into  a  deafening  prelude,  and  the  first  rocket 
whizzed  into  the  air  sending  forth  a  shower  of  sparks. 
The  crowd  rushed  en  masse  toward  the  door  of  the 
coach,  to  offer  their  hands,  their  arms,  anything,  and 
a  stout  lady  and  a  priest,  vvith  a  cotton  checked 
handkerchief  tied  around  his  temples,  alighted  from 
it.  Agonde,  more  ainused  than  angry,  made  signs 
to  the  musicians  and  the  rocket-throwers  to  desist 
from  their  task. 

"He  is  not  coming  yet !  he  is  not  coming  yet !"  he 
shouted.  In  effect,  there  were  no  other  passengers 
in  the  omnibus.  The  overseer  hastened  to 
explain: 


48  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"They  are  just  behind,  not  two  steps  off,  as  one 
might  say.  In  Count  de  Vilar's  carriage,  in  the 
barouche.  On  the  Senora's  account.  The  luggage 
is  here.  And  they  paid  for  the  seats  as  if  they  had 
occupied  them." 

It  was  not  long  before  the  measured  trot  of  Count 
de  Vilar's  pair  of  .horses  was  heard  and  the  open 
carriage,  of  an  old-fashioned  style,  rolled  majestically 
into  the  plaza.  Reclining  on  the  back  seat  was  a 
man  enveloped,  notwithstanding  the  heat,  in  a  cloth 
cloak;  at  his  side  sat  a  lady  in  a  gray  linen  duster, 
the  fanciful  brim  of  her  traveling-hat  standing  out 
sharply  against  the  pure  blue  of  the  sky.  In  the 
front  seat  sat  a  little  girl  of  some  ten  years  and  a 
mademoiselle^  a  sort  of  transpyrenean  nursery  gover- 
ness. Segundo,  who  had  kept  in  the  background  at 
the  arrival  of  the  diligence,  this  time  was  less  stub- 
born and  the  hand  which,  covered  with  a  long  Suede 
glove,  was  stretched  out  in  quest  of  a  support,  met 
with  the  energetic  and  nervous  pressure  of  another 
hand.  The  Minister's  lady  looked  with  surprise  at 
the  gallant,  gave  him  a  reserved  salutation  and,  tak- 
ing the  arm  Agonde  offered  her,  walked  quickly  into 
the  apothecary's. 

The  statesman  was  slower  in  alighting.  His  ad- 
herents   looked    at    him    with    surprise.     He   had 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  49 

changed  greatly  since  his  last  visit  to  Vilamorta — 
then  in  the  midst  of  the  revolution — some  eight  or 
ten  years  before.  His  iron-gray  hair,  whiter  on  the 
temples,  heightened  the  yellow  hue  of  his  complex- 
ion ;  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  too,  were  yellow  and 
streaked  with  little  red  veins ;  and  his  furrowed  and 
withered  countenance  bore  unmistakable  traces  of 
the  anxieties  of  the  struggle  for  social  position,  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  political  bench,  and  the  sedentary 
labors  of  the  forum.  His  frame  hung  loosely  to- 
gether, being  wanting  in  the  erectness  which  is  the 
sign    of   physical    vigor.     When    the    handshakings 

began,  however,  and  the  "Delighted  to  see  you " 

"At  last "  "After  an  age "  resounded  around 

him,  the  dying  gladiator  revived,  straightened  himself 
up,  and  an  amiable  smile  parted  his  thin  lips,  lending 
a  pleasing  expression  to  the  now  stern  mouth.  He 
even  opened  his  arms  to  Genday,  who  squirmed  m 
them  like  an  eel,  and  he  clapped  the  Alcalde  on  the 
back.  Garcia,  the  lawyer,  tried  to  attract  attention 
to  himself,  to  distinguish  himself  among  the  others, 
saying  in  the  serious  tone  of  one  who  expresses  an 
opinion  in  a  very  delicate  matter : 

"There,  upstairs,  upstairs  now,  to  rest  and  to  take 
some  refreshment." 

At    last    the  commotion  calmed  down,  the  great 


50  /■///';  SIVAN  OJ'    VJLAMORTA. 

man   entering  the   apothecary's,  followed  by  Garcia, 
Genday,  the  Alcalde,  and  Segundo. 

They  seated  themselves  in  Agonde's  little  parlor, 
respectfully  leaving  to  Don  Victoriano  the  red  rep 
sofa,  around  which  they  drew  their  chairs  in  a  semi- 
circle. Shortly  afterward  fhe  ladies  made  their  ap- 
pearance, and,  now  without  her  hat,  it  could  be  seen 
that  Seilora  de  Comba  was  young  and  beautiful, 
seeming  rather  the  elder  sister  than  the  mother  of  the 
little  girl.  The  latter,  with  her  luxuriant  hair  falling 
down  her  back  and  her  precocious  womanly  serious- 
ness, had  the  aspect  of  a  sickly  plant,  while  her 
mother,  a  smiling  blonde,  seemed  overflowing  with 
health.  They  spoke  of  the  journey,  of  the  fertile 
borders  of  the  Avieiro,  of  the  weather,  of  the  road; 
the  conversation  \vas  beginning  to  languish,  when 
Agonde's  sister  entered  opportunely,  preceded  by 
the  housekeeper  of  the  j^riest,  carrying  two  enormous 
trays  filled  with  smoking  cups  of  chocolate,  for  sup- 
per was  a  meal  unknown  to  the  hosts.  When  the 
trays  were  set  on  the  table  and  the  chocolate  handed 
around,  the  com[)any  grew  more  animated.  The 
Vilamortans,  finding  a  congenial  subject  on  which  to 
exercise  their  oratorical  powers,  began  to  press  the 
strangers,  to  eulogize  the  excellence  of  the  viands, 
and  calling  Senora  de   la  Comba  by  her  bai)tismal 


Tl/h:  Sir.LV  ()/'    IILAMORTA.  5  I 

name,  and  adding  an  affectionate  diminutive  to  that 
of  the  Httlc  girl,  they  launched  forth  into  exclama- 
tions and  questions. 

"Is  the  chocolate  to  your  taste,  Nieves?" 

"Do  you  like  it  thin  or  thick?" 

"Nieves,  take  that  morsel  of  cake  for  my  sake  ;  you 
will  find  it  excellent ;  only  we  have  the  secret  of 
making  it." 

"Come,  Victorinina,  don't  be  bashful;  that  fresh 
butter  goes  very  well  with  the  hot  bread." 

"A  morsel  of  toasted  sponge-cake.  Ah-ha  I  You 
don't  have  cake  like  that  in  Madrid,  eh?" 

"No,"  answered  the  girl,  in  a  clear  and  affected 
voice.  "In  Madrid  we  eat  crullers  and  doughnuts 
with  our  chocolate." 

"It  is  the  fashion  here  to  take  sponge-cake  with  it, 
not  crullers.  Take  that  one  on  the  top,  that  brown 
one.     That's  nothing,  a  bird  could  cat  it." 

Don  Victoriano  joined  in  the  conversation,  prais- 
ing the  bread,  saying  he  could  not  eat  it,  as  it  had 
been  absolutely  prohibited  to  him,  for  his  malady 
required  that  he  should  abstain  from  starch  and 
gluten  in  every  form — indeed,  he  had  bread  sent 
him  from  France,  bread  prepared  ad  hoc  without 
those  elements — and  as  he  spoke,  he  turned  toward 
Agonde,  who  nodded   with    an    air    of   intelligence. 


52  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

showing  that  he  understood  the  Latin  phrase.  And 
Don  Victoriano  regretted  doubly  the  prohibition 
now,  for  there  was  no  bread  to  be  compared  to  the 
Vilamorta  bread — which  was  better  of  its  kind  than 
cake,  yes  indeed.  The  Vilamortans  smiled,  highly 
flattered,  but  Garcia,  with  an  eloquent  shake  of  the 
head,  said  that  the  bread  was  deteriorating,  that  it 
was  not  now  what  it  had  formerly  been,  and  that 
only  Pellejo,  the  baker  of  the  plaza,  made  it  consci- 
entiously, having  the  patience  to  select  the  wheat, 
grain  by  grain,  not  letting  a  single  wormeaten  one 
pass.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  his  loaves  turned 
out  so  sweet  and  substantial.  Then  a  discussion 
arose  as  to  whether  bread  should  be  porous  or  the 
contrary,  and  as  to  whether  hot  bread  was  whole- 
some. 

Don  Victoriano,  reanimated  by  these  homely  de- 
tails, talked  of  his  childhood,  of  the  slices  of  bread 
spread  with  butter  or  molasses  which  he  used  to 
eat  between  meals,  and  when  he  added  that  his 
uncle,  the  priest,  occasionally  administered  a  sound 
drubbing  to  him,  a  smile  once  more  softened  the 
deep  lines  of  his  face.  This  expansion  of  feeling 
gave  a  sweeter  expression  to  his  countenance,  effac- 
ing from  it  the  traces  left  by  years  of  strife,  the  scars 
of  the  wounds  received  in  the  battle  of  life,  illumi- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  S3 

nating  it  with  a  reflection  from  his  vanished  youth. 
How  he  longed  to  see  again  a  grapevine  in  Las 
Vides  from  which  he  had  robbed  grapes  a  hundred 
times  when  he  was  a  child. 

"And  you  will  rob  them  again  now,"  exclaimed 
Clodio  Genday  gayly.  "We  must  tell  the  master  of 
Las  Vides  to  put  a  guard  over  the  vine  of  Jaen." 

The  jest  was  received  with  demonstrations  of 
hilarity,  and  the  girl  laughed  with  her  shrill  laugh  at 
the  idea  of  her  papa  robbing  a  grapevine.  Segundo 
only  smiled.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  Don  Victoriano, 
and  he  was  thinking  of  what  his  life  had  been.  He 
went  over  in  his  mind  the  history  of  the  great  man : 
At  Segundo's  age  Don  Victoriano,  too,  was  an 
obscure  lawyer,  buried  in  Vilamorta,  eager  to  break 
from  the  shell.  He  had  gone  to  Madrid,  where  a 
celebrated  jurisconsult  had  taken  him  as  his  assistant. 
The  jurisconsult  was  a  politician,  and  Victoriano  fol- 
lowed in  his  footsteps.  How  did  he  begin  to  pros- 
per? This  period  was  shrouded  in  obscurity.  Some 
said  one  thing,  some  another.  Vilamorta  found  him, 
when  it  least  expected,  its  candidate  and  represent- 
ative. Once  in  Congress  Don  Victoriano's  impor- 
tance grew  steadily,  and  when  the  Revolution  of  Sep- 
tember came  it  found  him  in  a  sufficiently  exalted 
position  to  be  improvised  a  minister.     The  brief  min- 


54  77/ A'  SIVAN  OF  VILA  MO  A' TA. 

istiy  gave  him  neither  time  to  wear  out  his  popu- 
larity nor  to  give  proof  of  special  gifts,  and,  with  his 
prestige  almost  intact,  the  Restoration  admitted  him 
as  a  member  of  a  fusionist   cabinet.     He  had  just 

j^laid  down  the  portfolio  and  come  to  re-establish  his 
shattered  health  in  his  native  place,  where  his  influ- 

I  ence  was  strong  and  incontestible,  thanks  to  his  alli- 
ance with  the  illustrious  house  of  Mendez  de  las 
Vides.  Segundo  asked  himself  if  a  lot  like  Don  Vic- 
toriano's  would  satisfy  his  aspirations.  Don  Vic- 
toriano  had  wealth — stocks  in  banks  and  shares  in 
railways  among  whose  directors  the  name  of  the  able 
jurisconsult  figured.  Our  versifier  raised  his  eye- 
brows disdainfully  and  glanced  at  the  Minister's 
wife;  that  graceful  beauty  certainh^  did  not  love  her 
lord.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  younger  son  of  the 
house  of  Las  Vides — a  magistrate ;  she  had  probably 
married  her  husband,  allured  by  his  position.  No ; 
most  assuredly  the  poet  did  not  envy  the  politician. 
Why  had  this  man  risen  to  the  eminent  position  he 
occupied?  What  extraordinary  gifts  did  he  possess? 
A  diffuse  parliamentary  orator,  a  passive  minister, 
with  some  forensic  ability — sum  total,  a  mediocrity. 
While  these  reflections  were  passing  through 
Segundo's  mind,  Senora  de  Comba  amused  herself 
by  examining  minutely   the  dress  and  the  appear- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VlF^AMORTA.  55 

ance  of  everyone  present.  She  took  in  every  detail, 
under  her  half-closed  lids,  of  the  toilet  of  Carmen 
Agonde,  who  was  arrayed  in  a  tight-fitting  deep  blue 
bodice  that  sent  the  blood  to  her  plethoric  cheeks. 
She  next  lowered  her  mocking  glance  to  the  patent- 
leather  boots  of  the  pharmacist,  and  then  raised  them 
again  to  Clodio  Genday's  fingers,  stained  by  the 
cigar,  and  the  purple  and  white  checked  velvet  waist- 
coat of  the  lawyer  Garcia.  Finally,  her  glance  fell 
on  Segundo,  in  critical  examination  of  his  attire. 
But  another  glance,  steady  and  ardent,  cast  it  back 
like  a  shield. 


V. 

Agonde  rose  early  on  the  following  morning,  and 
descended  shortly  afterward  to  his  shop,  leaving  his 
guests  wrapped  in  their  slumbers,  and  Carmen 
charged,  the  moment  they  should  stir,  to  pour  the 
chocolate  into  their  mouths.  The  apothecary  de- 
sired to  enjoy  the  effect  produced  in  the  town  by 
Don  Victoriano's  sojourn  in  his  house.  He  was 
reclining  in  his  leather-covered  easy-chair  when  he 
saw  Tropiezo  riding  past  on  his  gray  mule,  and 
called  out  to  him  : 

"Hello!  Hello!  Where  are  you  bound  for  so 
early?" 

"For  Doas,  man.  I  have  not  a  minute  to  spare." 
And  saying  this  the  doctor  alighted  from  his  mule, 
which  he  tied  to  an  iron  ring  fastened  in  the  wall. 

"Is  the  case  so  urgent?" 

"Urgent?  That  it  is.  The  old  woman,  the  grand- 
mother of  Ramon,  the  confectioner.  It  appears  she 
has  already  received  the  last  sacrament." 

"And  it  is  only  now  they  have  sent  for  you?" 

"No;  I  went  to  see  her  yesterday,  and  I  applied 

56 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  57 

two  dozen  leeches,  that  drew  their  fill  of  blood  from 
her.  She  looked  like  a  dying  kid ;  she  was  very 
weak,  and  as  thin  as  a  wafer.  Perhaps  if  I  had  given 
her  something  that  I  thought  of,  instead  of  applying 
leeches " 

"Ah!    a  trip,"  interrupted  Agonde  maliciously. 

"Life  is  a  series  of  trips,"  responded  the  doctor, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "And  upstairs?"  headded, 
raising  his  eyes  interrogatively  to  the  ceiling. 

"Snoring  like  princes." 

"And  he — how  does  he  look?"  asked  Don  Fermin, 
lowering  his  voice  and  dwelling  on  every  word. 

"He?"  repeated  Agonde,  following  his  example. 
"So-so.     Oldish.     And  very  gray." 

"But  what  is  the  matter  with  him?  Let  us  hear. 
For  as  to  being  sick,  he  is  that." 

"He  has — a  new  disease — a  very  strange  one,  one 
of  the  latest  fashion."  And  Agonde  smiled  mali- 
ciously. 

"New?" 

Agonde  half-closed  his  eyes,  bent  toward  Tropiezo, 
and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

Tropiezo  burst  into  a  laugh ;  suddenly  he  looked 
very  serious,  and  tapping  his  nose  repeatedly  with 
his  forefinger: 

'T  know,  I  know,"  he  said  emphatically.    "And  the 


5^  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

waters  here,  and  some  others  in  France,  are  the  only 
cure  for  that  disease.  If  he  drinks  a  few  glasses 
from  the  spring,  he  will  be  himself  again." 

Tropiezo  emitted  his  dictamen  leaning  on  the 
counter,  forgetful  of  the  mule  that  was  stamping  im- 
patiently at  the  door. 

"And  the  Senora — what  does  she  say  of  her  hus- 
band's state  of  health?"  he  suddenly  asked,  with  a 
wink. 

"What  should  she  say  of  it,  man?  Probably  she 
does  not  know  that  it  is  serious." 

A  look  of  derision  lighted  up  the  inexpressive 
features  of  the  physician  ;  he  glanced  at  Agonde  and 
smothering  another  burst  of  laughter,  began  : 

"The  Senora " 

"Chut!"  interrupted  the  apothecary  furiously. 
The  whole  Comba  family  were  making  an  irruption 
into  the  shop  through  the  small  door  of  the  porch. 
Mother  and  daughter  formed  a  charming  group, 
both  wearing  wide-brimmed  hats  of  coarse  straw 
adorned  with  enormous  bows  of  flame-colored  bunt- 
ing. Their  ecru  cotton  gowns  embroidered  with  red 
braid  completed  the  rustic  character  of  their  cos- 
tumes, reminding  one  of  a  bunch  of  poppies  and 
straw.  The  girl's  luxuriant  dark  hair  hung  loose  over 
her  shoulders,  and  the  fair  locks  of  the  mother  curled 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  59 

in  a  tangled  mass  under  the  shade  of  her  broad- 
brimmed  hat.  Nieves  did  not  wear  gloves  nor  was 
there  visible  on  her  face  a  trace  of  powder,  or  of  any 
other  of  the  cosmetics  whose  use  is  imputed  unjustly 
by  the  women  of  the  provinces  to  the  Madridleni- 
ans ;  on  the  contrary,  her  rosy  ears  and  neck  showed 
signs  of  energetic  friction  with  the  towel  and  cold 
water.  As  for  Don  Victoriano,  the  ravages  made  in 
his  countenance  by  care  and  sickness  were  still  more 
•apparent  in  the  morning  light;  it  was  not,  as 
Agonde  had  said,  age  that  was  visible  there ;  it  was 
virility,  but  tortured,  exhausted,  wounded  to  death. 

''Why  !  Have  you  had  chocolate  already?"  asked 
Agonde,  in  confusion. 

"No,  friend  Saturnino,  nor  shall  we  take  it,  with 
your  permission,  until  we  return.  Don't  trouble 
yourself  on  our  account.  Victoriniiia  has  ransacked 
your  pantry — your  closets " 

The  child  half  opened  a  handkerchief  which  she 
held  by  the  four  corners,  disclosing  a  provision  of 
bread,  cake,  and  the  cheese  of  the  country. 

"At  least  let  me  bring  you  a  whole  cheese.  I  will 
go  see  if  there  is  not  some  fresh  bread,  just  out  of 
the  oven " 

Don  Victoriano  objected — let  him  not  be  deprived 
of  the  pleasure  of  going  to  breakfast  in  the  poplar- 


6o  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

grove  near  the  spring,  just  as  he  had  done  when  a 
boy.  Agonde  remarked  that  those  articles  of  food 
were  not  wholesome  for  him,  to  which  Tropiezo, 
scratching  the  tip  of  his  ear,  responded  sceptically: 

'*Bah  !  bah  !  bah  !  Those  are  new-fangled  notions. 
What  is  wholesome  for  the  body — can't  they  un- 
derstand that — is  what  the  body  craves.  If  the 
gentleman  likes  bread — and  for  your  malady,  Sefior 
Don  Victoriano,  there  is  nothing  like  the  waters 
here.  I  don't  know  why  people  go  to  give  their 
money  to  those  French  when  we  have  better  things 
at  home  than  any  they  can  give  us." 

The  Minister  looked  at  Tropiezo  with  keen  inter- 
est depicted  on  his  countenance.  He  called  to  mind 
his  last  visit  to  Sanchez  del  Abrojo  and  the  contrac- 
tion of  the  lips  with  which  the  learned  practitioner 
had  said  to  him  : 

'T  would  send  you  to  Carlsbad  or  to  Vichy,  but 
those  waters  are  not  always  beneficial.  At  times 
they  hasten  the  natural  course  of  a  disease.  Rest 
for  a  time,  and  diet  yourself — we  will  see  how  you 
are  when  you  return  in  the  autumn."  And  what  a 
look  Sanchez  del  Abrojo  put  on  when  he  said  this! 
An  impenetrable,  sphinx-like  expression.  The  posi- 
tive assertion  of  Tropiezo  awoke  tumultuous  hopes 
in  Don  Victoriano's  breast,    This  village  practitioner 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMOKTA.  6i 

must  know  a  great  deal  from  experience,  more  per- 
haps than  the  pompous  doctors  of  the  capital. 
•   ''Come,  papa,"  said  the  child  impatiently,  pulling 
him  by  the  sleeve. 

They  took  the  path  toward  the  grove.  Vilamorta, 
naturally  given  to  early  rising,  was  more  full  of 
activity  at  this  hour  than  in  the  afternoon.  The 
shops  were  open,  the  baskets  of  the  fruit-venders 
were  already  filled  with  fruit.  Cansin  walked  up 
'and  down  his  establishment  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  affecting  to  have  noticed  nothing,  so  as  not 
to  be  obliged  to  bid  good-morning  to  Agonde  and 
acknowledge  his  triumph.  Pellejo,  covered  with 
flour,  was  haggling  with  three  shopkeepers  from 
Cebre,  who  wanted  to  buy  some  of  his  best  wheat. 
Ramon,  the  confectioner,  was  dividing  chocolate  into 
squares  on  a  large  board  placed  on  the  counter  and 
rapidly  stamping  them  with  a  hot  iron  before  they 
should  have  time  to  cool. 

The  morning  was  cloudless  and  the  sun  was 
already  unusually  hot.  The  party,  augmented  by 
Garcia  and  Genday,  walked  through  orchards  and 
cornfields  until  they  reached  the  entrance  to  the 
walk.  Don  Victoriano  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
joy.  It  was  the  same  double  row  of  elms  bordering 
the  river,  the  foaming  and  joyous  Avieiro,  that  ran 


62  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

on  sparkling  in  gentle  cascades,  washing  with  a  pleas- 
ant murmur  the  rocks,  worn  smooth  by  the  action 
of  the  current.  He  recognized  the  thick  osier  plan- 
tations ;  he  remembered  all  his  longings  of  the  day 
before  and  leaned,  full  of  emotion,  on  the  parapet  of 
the  walk.  The  scene  was  almost  deserted ;  half  a 
dozen  melancholy  and  bilious-looking  individuals, 
visitors  to  the  springs,  were  walking  slowly  up  and 
down,  discussing  their  ailments  in  low  tones,  and 
eructating  the  bicarbonate  of  the  waters.  Nieves, 
leaning  back  on  a  stone  bench,  gazed  at  the  river. 
The  child  touched  her  on  the  shoulder,  saying : 

"Mamma,  the  young  man  we  saw  yesterday." 

On  the  opposite  bank  Segundo  Garcia  was  stand- 
ing on  a  rock,  absorbed  in  meditation,  his  straw  hat 
pushed  far  back  on  his  head,  his  hand  resting  on  his 
hip,  doubtless  with  the  purpose  of  preserving  his 
equilibrium  in  so  dangerous  a  position.  Nieves  re- 
proved the  little  girl,  saying: 

"Don't  be  silly,  child.  You  startled  me.  Salute 
the  gentleman." 

"He  is  not  looking  this  way.  Ah  I  now  he  is  look- 
ing. Salute  him,  you,  mamma.  He  is  taking  off 
his  hat,  he  is  going  to  fall !     There  !  now  he  is  safe." 

Don  Victoriano  descended  the  stone  steps  leading 
to  the  spring.     The  abode  of  the  naiad  was  a  humble 


TkE  SWAX  OF  VILAMORTA.  6 


o 


grotto — a  shed  supported  on  rough  posts,  a  small 
basin  overflowing  with  the  water  from  the  spring, 
some  wretched  hovels  for  the  bathers,  and  a  strong 
and  sickening  odor  of  rotten  eggs,  caused  by  the 
stagnation  of  the  sulphur  water,  were  all  that  the 
fastidious  tourist  found  there.  Notwithstanding 
this,  Don  Victoriano's  soul  was  filled  with  the  purest 
joy.  In  this  naiad  he  beheld  his  youth,  his  lost 
youth — the  age  of  illusions,  of  hopes  blooming  as  the 
banks  of  the  Avieiro.  How  many  mornings  had  he 
come  to  drink  from  the  fountain,  for  a  jest,  to  wash 
his  face  with  the  water,  which  enjoyed  throughout 
the  country  the  reputation  of  possessing  extraor- 
dinary curative  virtue  for  the  eyes.  Don  Victoriano 
stretched  out  his  hands,  plunged  them  into  the 
warm  current,  feeling  it  slip  through  his  fingers  with 
delight,  and  playing  with  it  and  caressing  it  as  one 
caresses  a  loved  being.  But  the  undulating  form  of 
the  naiad  escaped  from  him  as  youth  escapes  from 
us — without  the  possibility  of  detaining  it.  Then 
the  ex-Minister  felt  a  thirst  awaken  in  him  to  drink 
the  waters.  Beside  him  on  the  edge  of  the  basin 
was  a  glass;  and  the  keeper,  a  poor  old  man  in  his 
dotage,  presented  it  to  him  with  an  idiotic  smile. 
Don  Victoriano  drank,  closing  his  eyes,  with  inde- 
scribable pleasure,  enjoying    the   mysterious  water, 


64  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

charmed  by  the  magic  arts  of  memory.  When  he 
had  drained  the  glass  he  drew  himself  up  and 
ascended  the  stairs  with  a  firm  and  elastic  step. 
Victorinina,  who  was  breakfasting  on  bread  and 
cheese  in  the  avenue,  was  astonished  when  her  father 
took  a  piece  of  bread  from  her  lap,  saying  gayly : 
*'We  are  all  God's  creatures." 


VI. 

Almost  as  much  as  by  Don  Victoriano's  arrival 
was  Vilamorta  excited  by  the  arrival  of  Senor  de  las 
Vides,  accompanied  by  his  steward,  Primo  Genday. 
This  event  happened  on  the  afternoon  of  the  mem- 
orable day  on  which  Don  Victoriano  had  infringed 
the  commands  of  science  by  eating  half  a  pound  of 
fresh  bread.  At  three  o'clock,  under  a  blazing  sun, 
Genday  the  elder  and  Mendez  entered  the  plaza, 
the  latter  mounted  on  a  powerful  mule,  the  former 
on  an  ordinary  nag. 

Senor  de  las  Vides  was  a  little  old  man  as  dry  as 
a  vine  branch.  His  carefully  shaven  cheeks,  his  thin 
lips  and  aristocratically  pointed  nose  and  chin,  his 
shrewd,  kind  eyes,  surrounded  by  innumerable  crows' 
fe^t,  his  intellectual  profile,  his  beardless  face,  called 
loudly  for  the  curled  wig,  the  embroidered  coat  and 
the  gold  snuff-box  of  the  Campomanes  and  Arandas. 
With  his  delicate  and  expressive  countenance  the 
countenance  of  Primo  Genday  contrasted  strongly. 
The  steward's  complexion  was  white  and  red,  he  had 
the  fine  and  transparent  skin,  showing  the  full  veins 

6s 


^(>  THE  SU'AX  OF  VILAMOKTA. 

underneath,  of  those  who  are  predisposed  to  hemi- 
plegy.  His  eyes  were  of  a  greenish  color,  one  of 
them  being  attached,  as  it  were,  to  the  lax  and 
drooping  Hd,  while  the  other  rolled  around  with  mis- 
chievous vivacity.  His  silvery  curls  gave  him  a  dis- 
tant resemblance  to  Louis  Philippe,  as  he  is  repre- 
sented on  the  coins  which  bear  his  effigy. 

By  a  combination  not  unusual  in  small  towns 
Primo  Genday  and  his  brother  Clodio  served  under 
opposite  political  banners,  both  being  in  reality  of 
one  mind  and  both  pursuing  the  same  end ;  Clodio 
ranged  himself  on  the  side  of  the  radicals,  Primo  was 
the  support  of  the  Carlist  party,  and  in  cases  of 
emergency,  in  the  electoral  contests,  they  clasped 
hands  over  the  fence.  When  the  hoofs  of  Primo 
Genday's  nag  resounded  on  the  paving-stones,  the 
windows  of  the  reactionary  shop  were  opened  and 
two  or  three  hands  were  waved  in  friendly  welcome. 
Primo  paused,  and  Mendez  continued  on  his  way  to 
Agonde's  door,  where  he  dismounted. 

He  was  received  in  Don  Victoriano's  arms,  and 
then  disappeared  among  the  shadows  of  the  stair- 
case. The  mule  remained  fastened  to  the  ring, 
stamping  impatiently,  while  the  onlookers  on  the 
plaza  contemplated  with  respect  the  nobleman's  old- 
fashioned  harness  of  embossed  leather,  ornamented 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  67 

with  silver,  bright  with  use.  One  after  another 
other  mules  and  horses  were  brought  to  join  the 
first  comer.  And  the  crowd  assigned  them  their 
riders  with  considerable  judgment.  The  chestnut 
nag  of  the  alguazil,  a  fine  animal,  with  a  saddle  and 
a  silk  headstall,  was  no  doubt  for  the  Minister.  The 
black  donkey  with  the  side-saddle — who  co.uld  doubt 
that  it  was  for  the  Senora?  The  other  gentle  white 
donkey  they  would  give  to  the  little  girl.  The 
Alcalde's  ass  was  for  the  maid.  Agonde  would  ride 
the  mare  he  always  rode,  the  Morena,  that  had 
more  malanders  on  her  head  than  hairs  in  her  tail. 
During  this  time  the  radicals,  Garcia,  Clodio,  Gen- 
day,  and  Ramon,  were  discussing  the  respective 
merits  of  the  animals  and  the  condition  of  their  trap- 
pings and  calculating  the  probabilities  of  their  being 
able  to  reach  Las  Vides  before  nightfall.  The  law- 
yer shook  his  head,  saying  emphatically  and  senten- 
tiously : 

"They  are  taking  their  time  about  it  if  they  ex- 
pect to  do  that." 

"And  they  are  bringing  the  alguazil's  horse  for 
Don  Victoriano !"  exclaimed  the  tobacconist. 
"Tricky  as  the  very  devil !  There  will  be  a  scene. 
When  you  rode  him,  Segundo,  did  he  play  you  no 
trick?" 


68  THE  SWAh'  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"Me,  no.     But  he  is  lively." 

"You  shall  see,  you  shall  see." 

The  travelers  were  now  coming  out  of  the  house, 
and  the  cavalcade  began  to  form.  The  ladies  seated 
themselves  in  their  side-saddles  and  the  men  settled 
their  feet  in  their  stirrups.  Then  the  scene  predicted 
by  the  tobacconist  took  place,  to  the  great  scandal 
and  the  further  delay  of  the  party.  As  soon  as  the 
alguazil's  nag  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  a 
female  of  his  race  he  began  to  snuff  the  air  excitedly, 
neighing  fiercely.  Don  Victoriano  gathered  up  the 
reins,  but,  before  the  animal  had  felt  the  iron  in  his 
mouth,  he  became  so  unmanageable,  first  rearing, 
then  kicking  violently,  and  finally  turning  his 
head  around  to  try  to  bite  his  rider's  legs, 
that  Don  Victoriano,  somewhat  pale,  thought 
it  prudent  to  dismount.  Agonde.  furious,  dis- 
mounted    also. 

"What  an  infernal  animal!"  he  cried.  "Here, 
brutes — who  told  you  to  bring  the  alguazil's  horse? 
One  would  suppose  you  didn't  know  it  was  a  wild 
beast,  You — Alcalde,  or  you,  Garcia — quick,  go  for 
Requinto's  mule ;  it  is  only  two  steps  from  here. 
Sefior  Don  Victoriano,  take  my  mule.  And  that 
tiger,  to  the  stable  with  him  !" 

"No,"  interrupted  Segundo,  "I  will  ride  him  as  he 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  69 

is  already  saddled.  T  will  go  with  you  as  far  as  the 
cross." 

And  Segundo,  providing  himself  with  a  strong 
switch,  caught  the  nag  by  the  mane  and  at  a  bound 
was  in  the  saddle.  Instead  of  leaning  his  weight  on 
the  stirrup  he  pressed  the  animal's  sides  between  his 
legs,  raining  a  shower  of  blows  at  the  same  time  on 
his  head.  The  animal,  which  was  already  beginning 
to  curvet  and  prance  again,  gave  a  snort  of  pain, 
and  now,  quivering  and  subdued,  obeyed  his  rider's 
touch.  The  cavalcade  put  itself  in  motion  as  soon 
as  Requinto's  mule  was  brought,  after  handshakings, 
waving  of  hats,  and  even  a  timid  viva^  from  what 
quarter  no  one  knew.  The  cortege  proceeded  along 
the  highway,  the  mare  and  the  mules  heading  the 
procession,  the  donkeys  following  behind,  and  at 
their  side  the  nag,  kept  in  order  by  dint  of  switch- 
ing. The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west,  turning  the 
dust  of  the  road  into  gold ;  the  chestnut  trees  cast 
lengthened  shadows  on  the  ground,  and  from  the 
osier-brake  came  a  pleasant  breeze  laden  with  mois- 
ture from  the  river. 

Segundo  rode  along  in  silence ;  Victorinina,  de- 
lighted to  be  riding  on  a  donkey,  smiled,  making 
fruitless  efforts  to  hide  with  her  frock  her  sharp 
knee-bones,  which  the  shape  of  the  saddle  compelled 


70  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

her  to  raise  and  uncover.  Nieves,  leaning  back  in 
her  saddle,  opened  her  rose-lined  ecru  lace  parasol, 
and,  as  they  started,  drew  from  her  bosom  a  diminu- 
tive watch,  which  she  consulted  for  the  hour.  A  few 
moments  of  embarrassed  silence  followed.  At  last 
Segundo  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  say  something: 

"How  are  you  doing,  Victoriniiia?"  he  said  to  the 
child.     "Are  you  comfortable?" 

"Yes,  quite  comfortable." 

"I  warrant  you  would  rather  ride  on  my  horse. 
If  you  are  not  afraid  I  will  take  you  before 
me. 

The  girl,  whose  embarrassment  had  now  reached 
its  height,  lowered  her  eyes  without  answering;  her 
mother,  smiling  graciously,  however,  now  joined  in 
the  conversation. 

"And  tell  me,  Garcia,  why  don't  you  address  the 
child  as  tho^l?  You  treat  her  with  so  much  cere- 
mony! You  will  make  her  fancy  she  is  a  young 
lady  already." 

"I  should  not  dare  to  do  so  without  her  permis- 
sion." 

"Come,  Victorinina,   tell  this  gentleman  he   has 
your  permission." 

The  child  took  refuge  in  that  invincible  muteness 
of  growing  girls  whom  an   exquisite  and   precocious 


THE  SI! 'A A'  OF  }'ILAMORTA.  ^  7^ 

sensibility  renders  painfully  shy.  A  smile  parted 
her  lips,  and  at  the  same  time  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  Mademoiselle  said  something  gently  to  her 
in  French;  meanwhile  Nieves  and  Segundo,  laugh- 
ing confidentially  at  the  incident,  found  the  way 
smoothed  for  them  to  begin  a  conversation. 

**When  do  you  think  we  shall  arrive  at  Las  Vides? 
Is  it  a  pretty  place?  Shall  we  be  comfortable  there? 
How  will  it  agree  with  Victoriano?  What  sort  of  a 
life  shall  we  lead?  Shall  we  have  many  visitors? 
Is  there  a  garden?" 

"Las  Vides  is  a  beautiful  place,"  said  Segundo. 
"It  has  an  air  of  antiquity — a  lordly  air,  as  it  were. 
I  like  the  escutcheon,  and  a  magnificent  grapevine 
that  covers  the  courtyard,  and  the  camellias  and 
lemon  trees  in  the  orchards,  that  look  like  good- 
sized  chestnut  trees,  and  the  view  of  the  river,  and, 
above  all,  a  pine  grove  that  talks  and  even  sings — 
don't  laugh — that  sings ;  yes,  Sefiora,  and  better 
than  most  professional  singers.  Don't  you  believe 
it?     Well,  you  shall  see  for  yourself  presently." 

Nieves  looked  with  lively  curiosity  at  the  young 
man  and  then  hastily  turned  her  glance  aside,  re- 
membering the  quick  and  nervous  hand-pressure  of 
the  day  before,  when  she  was  alighting  from  the 
carriage.     For  the  second  time  in  the  space  of  a  few 


72  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

hours  this  young  man  had  surprised  her.  Nieves  led 
an  extremely  regular  life  in  Madrid — the  life  of  the 
middle  classes,  in  which  all  the  incidents  are  com- 
monplace. She  went  to  mass  and  shopped  in  the 
morning;  in  the  afternoon  she  went  to  the  Retiro, 
or  made  visits ;  in  the  evening  she  went  to  her  par- 
ents' house  or  to  the  theater  with  her  husband  ;  on 
rare  occasions  to  some  ball  or  banquet  at  the  house 
of  the  Duke  of  Puenteanchas,  a  client  of  Don  Vic- 
toriano's.  When  the  latter  received  the  portfolio  it 
made  little  change  in  Nieves'  way  of  life.  She  re- 
cived  a  few  more  salutations  than  before  in  the 
Retiro ;  the  clerks  in  the  shops  were  more  attentive 
to  her;  the  Duchess  of  Puenteanchas  said  some  flat- 
tering things  to  her,  calling  her  "  pet,"  and  here  ended 
for  Nieves  the  pleasure  of  the  ministry.  The  trip 
to  Vilamorta,  the  picturesque  country  of  which  she 
had  so  often  heard  her  father  speak,  was  a  novel 
incident  in  her  monotonous  life.  Segundo  seemed 
to  her  a  curious  detail  of  the  journey.  He  looked 
at  her  and  spoke  to  her  in  so  odd  a  way.  Bah,  fan- 
cies !  Between  this  young  man  and  herself  there  was 
nothing  in  common.  A  passing  acquaintance,  like  so 
many  others  to  be  met  here  at  every  step.  So  the 
pines  sang,  did  they?  A  misfortune  for  Gayarre! 
And    Nieves    smiled    graciously,    dissembling    her 


THE  SWAX  OF  ]' 1 1.  AMORT  A.  ^  73 

strange  thoughts  and  went  on  asking  questions,  to 
which  Segundo  responded  in  expressive  phrases. 
Night  was  beginning  to  fall.  Suddenly,  the  caval- 
cade, leaving  the  highroad,  turned  into  a  path  that 
led  among  pine  groves  and  woods.  At  a  turn  of  the 
path  could  be  seen  the  picturesque  dark  stone  cross, 
whose  steps  invited  to  prayer  or  to  sentimental  rev- 
erie. Agonde  stopped  here  and  took  his  leave  of 
the  party,  and  Segundo  followed  his  example. 

As  the  tinkling  of  the  donkeys'  bells  grew  fainter 
in  the  distance  Segundo  felt  an  inexplicable  sensa- 
tion of  loneliness  and  abandonment  steal  over  him, 
as  if  he  had  just  parted  forever  from  persons  who 
were  dear  to  him  or  who  played  an  important  part  in 
his  life.  "A  pretty  fool  I  am  !"  said  the  poet  to  him- 
self. "What  have  I  to  do  with  these  people  or  they 
with  me?  Nieves  has  invited  me  to  spend  a  few 
days  at  Las  Vides,  eii  familie.  When  Nieves  re- 
turns to  Madrid  this  winter  she  will  speak  of  me  as 
'That  lawyer's  son,  that  we  met  at  Vilamorta.' 
Who  am  I?  What  position  should  I  occupy  in  her 
house?  An  altogether  secondary  one.  That  of  a 
boy  who  is  treated  with  consideration  because  his 
father  disposes  of  votes." 

While  Segundo  was  thus  caviling,  the  apothecary 
overtook  him,  and  horse  and  mule  pursued  their  way 


74  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

side  by  side.  In  the  twilight  the  poet  could  distin- 
guish the  placid  smile  of  Agonde,  his  red  cheeks, 
looking  redder  in  contrast  to  the  lustrous  black  mus- 
tache,  his  expression  of  sensual  amiability  and  epi- 
curean beatitude.  An  enviable  lot  was  the  apothe- 
cary's. This  man  was  happy  in  his  comfortable  and 
well-ordered  shop,  with  his  circle  of  friends,  his  cap 
and  his  embroidered  slippers,  taking  life  as  one  takes 
a  glass  of  cordial,  sipping  it  wMth  enjoyment,  in 
peace  and  harmony,  along  with  the  other  guests  at 
the  banquet  of  life.  Why  should  not  Segundo  be 
satisfied  with  what  satisfied  Agonde  perfectly?  - 
Whence  came  this  longing  for  something  that  was 
not  precisely  money,  nor  pleasure,  nor  fame,  nor 
love — which  partook  of  all  these,  which  embraced 
them  all  and  which  perhaps  nothing  would  satisfy? 

"Segundo." 

"Eh?"  he  answered,  turning  his  head  toward 
Agonde. 

"How  silent  you  are,  my  boy  I  What  do  you 
think  of  the  Minister?" 

"What  would  you  have  me  think  of  him?" 

"And  the  Sefiora?  Come,  you  have  noticed 
her,  I  warrant.  She  wears  black  silk  stockings, 
like  the  priests.  When  she  was  mounting  the 
donkey " 


THE^  S IV A  y  OF  VILA  MOR  TA .  75 

"I  am  going  to  take  a  gallop  as  far  as  Vilamorta. 
Do  you  care  to  join  me,  Saturnino?" 

"Gallop  with  this  mule?  I  should  arrive  there 
with  my  stomach  in  my  mouth.  Gallop  you,  if  you 
have  a  fancy  for  doing  so." 

The  nag  galloped  for  half  a  league  or  so,  urged  by 
his  rider's  whip.  As  they  drew  near  the  canebrake 
by  the  river,  Segundo  slackened  his  horse's  gallop  to 
a  very  slow  walk.  It  was  now  almost  dark  and  the 
cool  mists  rose,  moist  and  clinging,  from  the  bosom 
of  the  Avieiro.  Segundo  remembered  that  it  was 
two  or  three  days  since  he  had  put  his  foot  in  Leo- 
cadia's  house.  No  doubt  the  schoolmistress  was 
now  fretting  herself  to  death,  weeping  and  watching 
for  him.  This  thought  brought  sudden  balm  to 
Segundo's  wounded  spirit.  How  tenderly  Leocadia 
loved  him  I  With  what  joy  did  she  welcome  him  ! 
How  deeply  his  poetry,  his  words,  moved  her !  And 
he — why  was  it  that  he  did  not  share  her  ardor? 
Of  this  exclusive,  this  absolute,  boundless  love, 
Segundo  had  never  deigned  to  accept  even  the  half; 
and  of  all  the  tender  terms  of  endearment  invented 
by  the  muse  he  chose  for  Leo(;adia  the  least  poet- 
ical, the  least  romantic ;  as  we  separate  the  gold  and 
silver  \\\  our  purse  from  the  baser  coin,  setting  aside 
for  the  beggar  the  meanest  copper,  so  did  Segundo 


76  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

dispense  with  niggard  hand  the  treasures  ot  his  love. 
A  hundred  times  had  it  happened  to  him,  in  his 
walks  through  the  country,  to  fill  his  hat  with  vio- 
lets, with  hyacinths  and  branches  of  blackberry  blos- 
soms, only  to  throw  them  all  into  the  river  on  reach- 
ing the  village,  in  order  not  to  carry  them  to 
Leocadia. 


VII. 

While  she  distributed  their  tasks  among  the 
children,  saying  to  one,  "Take  care  to  make  this 
hem  straight,"  to  another,  "Make  this  seam  even,  the 
stitch  smaller,"  to  a  third,  "Use  your  handkerchief 
instead  of  your  dress,"  and  to  still  another,  "Sit 
still,  child,  don't  move  your  feet,"  Leocadia  cast  a 
glance  from  time  to  time  toward  the  plaza  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  Segundo  pass  by.  But  no  Segundo 
was  to  be  seen.  The  flies  settled  themselves  to 
sleep,  buzzing,  on  the  ceiling;  the  heat  abated;  the 
afternoon  came,  and  the  children  went  away.  Leo- 
cadia felt  a  profound  sadness  take  possession  of  her 
and,  without  waiting  to  put  the  house  in  order,  she 
went  to  her  room  and  threw  herself  on  the  bed. 

The  glass  door  was  pushed  gently  open,  and  some 
one  entered  softly. 

"Mamma,"  said  the  intruder,  in  a  low  voice. 

The  schoolmistress  did  not  answer. 

"Mamma,  mamma,"  repeated  the  hunchback,  in  a 
louder  voice.     * 'Mamma!"  he  shouted  at  last. 

"Is  that  you?     What  do  you  want?" 

77 


78  J' HE  SWAN  OF   VILAMORTA. 

"Are  you  ill?" 

"No,  child." 

"As  you  went  to  bed — —' 


"I  have  a  slight  headache.  There,  leave  me  in 
peace." 

Minguitos  turged  round  and  walked  in  silence 
toward  the  door.  As  her  eyes  fell  on  the  protuber- 
ance of  his  back,  a  sharp  pang  pierced  the  heart  of 
the  schoolmistress.  How  many  tears  that  hump  had 
cost  her  in  other  days.  She  raised  herself  on  her 
elbow. 

"Minguitos  I"  she  called. 

"What  is  it,  mamma  ?" 

''Don't  go  away.  How  do  you  feel  to-day? 
Have  you  any  pain?" 

''I  feel  pretty  well,  mamma.  Only  my  chest 
hurts  me." 

''Let  me  see;  come  here." 

Leocadia  sat  up  in  the  bed  and,  taking  the  child's 
head  between  her  hands,  looked  at  him  with  a 
mother's  hungry  look.  Minguito^'  face  was  long 
and  of  a  melancholy  cast;  the  prominent  lower  jaw 
was  in  keeping  with  the  twisted  and  misshapen  body 
that  reminded  one  of  a  building  shaken  out  of  shape 
by  an  earthquake  or  a  tree  twisted  by  a  hurricane. 
Minguitos'  deformity  was  not  congenital.     He  had 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMOR  FA.   ^  79 

always  been  sickly,  indeed,  and  it  had  always  been 
remarked  that  his  head  seemed  too  heavy  for  his 
body,  and  that  his  legs  seemed  too  frail  to  support 
him.  Leocadia  recalled  one  by  one  the  incidents  of 
his  childhood.  At  five  years  old  the  boy  had  met 
with  an  accident — a  fall  down  the- stairs;  from  that 
day  he  lost  all  his  liveliness ;  he  walked  little  and 
never  ran.  He  contracted  a  habit  of  sitting  Turkish 
fashion,  playing  marbles  for  hours  at  a  time.  If  he 
rose  his  legs  soon  warned  him  to  sit  down  again. 
When  he  stood,  his  movements  were  vacillating  and 
awkward.  When  he  was  quiet  he  felt  no  pain,  but 
when  he  turned  any  part  of  his  body,  he  experienced 
slight  pains  in  the  spinal  column.  The  trouble  in- 
creased with  time ;  the  boy  complained  of  a  feeling 
as  if  an  iron  band  were  compressing  his  chest.  Then 
his  mother,  now  thoroughly  alarmed,  consulted  a 
famous  physician,  the  best  in  Orense.  He  pre- 
scribed frictions  with  iodine,  large  doses  of  phos- 
phates of  lime,  and  sea-bathing.  Leocadia  hastened 
with  the  boy  to  a  little  sea-port.  After  taking  two 
or  three  baths,  the  trouble  increased ;  he  could  not 
bend  his  body;  his  spinal  column  was  rigid  and  it 
was  only  when  he  was  in  a  horizontal  position  that 
he  felt  any  relief  from  his  now  severe  pains.  Sores 
appeared   on    his  skin,  and   one   morning  when  Leo- 


8o  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

cadia  begged  him  with  tears  to  straighten  himself, 
and  tried  to  Hft  him  up  by  the  arms,  he  uttered  a 
horrible  cry. 

**I  am  broken  in  two,  mamma — I  am  broken  in 
two,"  he  repeated  with  anguish,  while,  his  mother, 
with  trembling  fingers  sought  to  find  what  had 
caused  his  cry. 

It  was  true!  The  backbone  had  bent  outward, 
forming  an  angle  on  a  level  with  his  shoulderblades, 
the  softened  vertebrae  had  sunk  and  cifosis,  the 
hump,  the  indelible  mark  of  irremediable  calamity, 
was  to  deform  henceforth  this  child  who  was  dearer 
to  her  than  her  life.  The  schoolmistress  had  had  a 
moment  of  animal  and  sublime  anguish,  the  anguish 
of  the  wild  beast  that  sees  its  young  mutilated.  She 
had  uttered  shriek  after  shriek,  cursing  the  doctor, 
cursing  herself,  tearing  her  hair  and  digging  her  nails 
into  her  flesh.  Afterward  tears  had  come  and  she 
had  showered  kisses,  delirious,  but  soothing  and 
sweet,  on  the  boy,  and  her  grief  took  a  resigned 
form.  During  nine  years  Leocadia  had  had  no  other 
thought  than  to  watch  over  her  little  cripple  by  night 
and  by  day,  sheltering  him  in  her  love,  amusing  with 
ingenious  inventions  the  idle  hours  of  his  sedentary 
childhood.  A  thousand  incidents  of  this  time  re- 
curred   to    Leocadia's    memory.     The  bo}'  suffered 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  8 1 

from  obstinate  dyspnoea,  due  to  the  pressure  of  the 
sunken  vertebrae  on  the  respiratory  organs,  and  his 
mother  would  get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and 
go  in  her  bare  feet  to  listen  to  his  breathing  and  to 
raise  his  pillows.  As  these  recollections  came  to  her 
mind  Leocadia  felt  her  heart  melt  and  something 
stir  within  her  like  the  remains  of  a  great  love,  the 
warm  ashes  of  an  immense  fire,  and  she  experienced 
the  unconscious  reaction  of  maternity,  the  irresistible 
impulse  which  makes  a  mother  see  in  her  grown-up 
son  only  the  infant  she  has  nursed  and  protected,  to 
whom  she  would  have  given  her  blood,  if  it  had  been 
necessary,  instead  of  milk.  And  uttering  a  cry  of 
love,  pressing  her  feverish  lips  passionately  to  the 
pallid  temples  of  the  hunchback,  she  said,  falling 
back  naturally  into  the  caressing  expressions  of  the 
dialect : 

'' Malpocadiito.  Who  loves  you?  say,  who  loves 
you  dearly?     Who?" 

"You  don't  love  me,  mamma.  You  don't  love 
me,"  the  boy  returned,  half-smiling,  leaning  his  head 
with  delight  on  the  bosom  that  had  sheltered  his  sad 
childhood.  The  mother,  meantime,  wildly  kissed 
his  hair,  his  neck,  his  eyes — as  if  to  make  up  for  lost 
time — lavishing  upon  him  the  honeyed  words  with 
which  infants  arc  beguiled,  words  profaned  in  hours 


Sz  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

of  passion,  which  overflowed  in  the  pure  channel  of 
maternal  love. 

"My  treasure — my  king — my  glory." 

At  last  the  hunchback  felt  a  tear  fall  on  his  cheek. 
Delicious  assuagement!  At  first,  the  tears  were 
large  and  round,  scorching  almost,  but  soon  they 
came  in  a  gentle  shower  and  then  ceased  altogether, 
and  there  remained  where  they  had  fallen  only  a 
grateful  sense  of  coolness.  Passionate  phrases 
rushed  simultaneously  from  the  lips  of  mother  and 
son. 

"Do  you  love  me  dearly,  dearly,  dearly?  As 
much  as  your  whole  life?" 

"As  much,  my  life,  my  treasure." 

"Will  you  always  love  me?" 

"Always,  always,  my  joy." 

"Will  you  do  something  to  please  me,  mamma? 
I  want  to  ask  you " 

"Wliat?" 

"A  favor.     Don't  turn  your  face  away!" 

The  hunchback  observed  that  his  mother's  form 
suddenly  grew  stiff  and  rigid  as  a  bar  of  iron.  He 
no  longer  felt  the  sweet  warmth  of  her  moist  eyelids, 
and  the  gentle  contact  of  her  wet  lashes  on  his 
cheek.  In  a  voice  that  had  a  metallic  sound  Leo- 
cadia  asked  her  son  , 


THE  SWAN  OF  VlLAMORT.i.  S3 

**And  what  is  the  favor  you  want?  Let  me  hear 
it." 

Minguitos  murmured  without  bitterness,  with 
resignation : 

"Nothing,  mamma,  nothing.  I  was  only  in 
jest." 

"But  what  was  the  fav^or  you  were  going  to  ask 
me?" 

"Nothing,  nothing,  indeed." 

"No,  you  wanted  to  ask  something,"  persisted  the 
schoohnistress,  seizing  the  pretext  to  give  vent  to  her 
anger.  "Otherwise  you  are  very  deceitful  and  very 
sly.  You  keep  everything  hidden  in  your  breast. 
Those  are  the  lessons  Flores  teaches  you  ;  do  you 
think  I  don't  notice  it?" 

Saying  this,  she  pushed  the  boy  away  from  her, 
and  sprang  from  the  bed.  In  the  hall  outside 
almost  at  the  same  moment  was  heard  a  firm  and 
youthful  step.  Leocadia  trembled,  and  turning  to 
Minguitos,  stammered: 

"Go,  go  to  Flores.  Leave  me  alone.  I  do  not  feel 
well,  and  you  make  me  worse," 

Segundo's  brow  was  clouded,  and  as  soon  as  the 
joy  of  seeing  him  had  subsided  Leocadia  was  seized 
with  the  desire  to  restore  him  to  good  humor.  She 
waited  patiently  for  a  fitting  opportunity,  however, 


^4  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

and  when  this  came,  throwing  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  she  began  with  the  complaint :  Where  had  he 
kept  himself?  Why  had  he  stayed  away  so  long? 
I'he  poet  unburdened  himself  of  his  grievances.  It 
was  intolerable  to  follow  in  the  train  of  a  great  man. 
And  allowing  himself  to  be  carried  away  by  the 
pleasure  of  speaking  of  what  occupied  his  mind  he 
decribed  Don  Victoriano  and  the  radicals,  he  sati- 
rized Agonde's  reception  of  his  guests,  his  manner  of 
entertaining  them,  spoke  of  the  hopes  he  founded  in 
the  protection  of  the  ex-Minister,  giving  them  as  a 
reason  for  the  necessity  of  paying  court  to  Don  Vic- 
toriano. Leocadia  fixed  her  dog-like  look  on  Segun- 
do's  countenance. 

"And  the  Senora  and  the  girl — what  are  they 
like?" 

Segundo  half-closed  his  eyes  the  better  to  con- 
template an  attractive  and  charming  image  that  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  mental  vision,  and  to  reflect  that 
in  the  existence  of  Nieves  he  played  no  part  what- 
soever, it  being  manifest  folly  for  him  to  think  of 
Senora  de  Comba,  who  did  not  think  of  him.  This 
reflection,  natural  and  simple  enough,  aroused  his 
anger.  There  was  awakened  within  him  a  keen 
longing  for  the  unattainable,  that  insensate  and  un- 
bridled desire  with  which  the  likeness  of  a  beautiful 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  85 

woman  dead  for  centuries  may  inspire  some  dreamer 
in  a  museum. 

"But  answer  me — are  those  ladies  handsome?" 
the  schoolmistress  asked  again. 

"The  mother,  yes" — answered  Segundo,  speaking 
with  the  careless  frankness  of  one  who  is  secure  of 
his  auditor.  **Her  hair  is  fair,  and  her  eyes  are  blue 
— a  light  blue  that  makes  one  think  of  the  verses  of 
Becquer."     And  he  began  to  recite: 

"  *Tu  pupila  es  azul,  y  cuando  ries 
Su  claridad  suave  me  recuerda 

Leocadia  listened  to  him  at  first  with  eyes  cast 
down ;  afterward  with  her  face  turned  away  from 
him.  When  he  had  finished  the  poem  she  said  in  an 
altered  voice,  with  feigned  calmness. 

''They  will  invite  you  to  go  there." 

"Where?" 

"To  Las  Vides,  of  course.  I  hear  they  intend  to 
have  a  great  deal  of  company." 

"Yes;  they  have  given  me  a  pressing  invitation, 
but  I  shall  not  go.  Uncle  Clodio  insists  upon  it  that 
I  ought  to  cultivate  the  friendship  of  Don  Victoriano 
so  that  he  may  be  of  use  to  me  in  Madrid  and  help 
me  to  get  a  position  there.     But,  child,  to   go  and 


S6  ;  THE  S  JVA iV  OF   J  'II.  A  J/(  Vv'  TA . 

play  a  sorry  part  is  not  to  my  liking.  This  suit  is 
the  best  I  have,  and  it  is  in  last  year's  fashion.  If 
they  play  tresillo  or  give  tips  to  the  servants — and 
it  is  impossible  to  make  m\'  father  understand  this — 
and  I  shall  not  try  to  do  so;  God  forbid.  So  that 
they  shall  not  catch  a  sight  of  me  in  Las  Vides." 

When  she  heard  wliat  his  intentions  were,  Leo- 
cadia's  countenance  cleared  up,  and  rising,  radiant 
with  happiness,  she  ran  to  the  kitchen.  Flores  was 
washing  plates  and  cups  and  saucers  by  the  light  of 
a  lamp,  knocking  them  angrily  together  and  rubbing 
savagely. 

"The  coffee-pot — did  you  clean  it?" 

"Presently,  presently,"  responded  the  old  woman. 
"Anyone  would  think  that  one  was  made  of  wood, 
that  one  is  never  to  get  tired — that  one  can  do  things 
flying." 

"Give  it  to  me,  I  will  clean  it.  Put  more  wood 
on  the  fire ;  it  is  going  out  and  the  beefsteak  will  be 
spoiled."  And  so  saying  Leocadia  washed  the  cof- 
fee-pot, cleaning  the  filter  with  a  knitting-needle, 
and  put  some  fresh  water  down  to  boil  in  a  new 
saucepan,  throwing  more  wood  on  the  fire. 

"Yes,  heap  on  wood,"  growled  Flores,  "as  we  get 
it  for  nothing !" 

Leocadia,  w^ho  was  slicing  some  potatoes  for  the 


THE  SWAM  OF  VILAMORTA.  S7 

beefsteak,  paid  no  attention  to  her.  When  she  had 
cut  up  as  many  as  she  judged  necessary,  she  washed 
her  hands  hastily  in  the  jar  of  the  drain,  full  of  dirty 
water,  on  whose  surface  floated  large  patches  of 
grease.  She  then  hurried  to  the  parlor  where  Se- 
gundo  was  waiting  for  her,  and  soon  afterward  Flores 
brought  in  the  supper,  which  they  ate,  seated  at  a 
small  side-table.  By  the  time  they  had  got  to  the 
coffee  Segundo  began  to  be  more  communicative. 
This  coffee  was  what  Leocadia  most  prided  herself 
on.  She  had  bought  a  set  of  English  china,  an  imi- 
tation lacquer-box,  a  vermeil  sugar-tongs  and  two 
small  silver  spoons,  and  she  always  placed  on  the 
table  with  the  coffee  a  liquor-stand,  supplied  with 
cumin,  rum,  and  anisette.  At  the  third  glass,  of 
cumin,  seeing  the  poet  amiable  and  propitious, 
Leocadia  put  her  arm  around  his  neck.  He  drew 
back  brusquely,  noticing  with  strong  repulsion  the 
odor  of  cooking  and  of  parsley  with  which  the  gar- 
ments of  the  schoolmistress  were  impregnated. " 

At  this  moment  precisely  Minguitos,  after  letting 
his  shoes  drop  on  the  floor,  was  drawing  the  coverlet 
around  him  with  a  sigh.  Flores,  seated  on  a  \o\\ 
chair,  began  to  recite  the  rosary.  The  sick  child  re- 
quired, to  put  him  to  sleep,  the  monotonous  mur- 
mur of  the  husky  voice  which  had  lulled  him  to  rest. 


88  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

ever  since  his  mother  had  ceased  to  keep  him  com- 
pany at  bedtime.  The  Ave  Marias  and  Gloria  Pa- 
tris,  mumbled  rather  than  pronounced,  little  by  little 
dulled  thought  and,  by  the  time  the  litany  was 
reached,  sleep  had  stolen  over  him,  and,  half-uncon- 
scious, it  was  with  difficulty  he  made  the  responses 
to  the  barbarous  phrases  of  the  old  woman:  "Juana 
celi  —  Ora  pro  nobis  —  Sal-es-enfermorun  —  nobis — 
Refajos     pecadorum  —  bis  —  Consolate    flitorum  — 

sss 

The  only  response  was  the  labored,  restless,  un- 
even breathing  that  came  through  the  sleeping  boy's 
half-closed  lips.  Flores  softly  put  out  the  tallow 
candle,  took  off  her  shoes,  in  order  to  make  no  noise, 
and  stole  out  gently,  feeling  her  way  along  the  din- 
ingf-room  wall.  From  the  momicnt  in  which  Mingui- 
tos  fell  asleep  there  was  no  more  rattling  of  dishes 
in  the  kitchen. 


VIII. 

It  was  late  before  the  Swan  blew  out  the  tallow 
candle  which  Aunt  Gaspara  placed  every  day,  always 
with  much  grumbling,  in  his  brass  candlestick. 
Seated  at  the  little  table  littered  with  books,  he  had 
before  him  a  sheet  of  paper  half  covered  with  lines 
of  unequal  length,  variegated  with  blots  and  correc- 
tions, little  heaps  of  sand,  and  here  and  there  a  flour- 
ish. Segundo  would  not  have  slept  all  night  if  he 
had  not  first  written  down  the  poem  which,  from  the 
moment  he  had  left  the  cross,  had  been  running 
through  his  brain.  Only  that,  before  taking  up  the 
pen,  he  seemed  to  have  the  poem  already  composed 
in  his  head,  so  that  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  turn  the 
spigot  and  it  would  flow  out  in  a  stream,  and  when 
he  took  the  pen  in  his  hand  the  verses,  instead  of 
rushing  forth,  hid  themselves  or  vanished.  A  few 
strophes  fell  on  the  paper,  rounded,  fluent,  finished, 
with  harmonious  and  opportune  rhymes,  with  a 
certain  sweetness  and  sonorousness  extremely  de- 
lightful to  the  author  himself,  who  scribbled  them 

down  hastily  before  they  should    take  flight.      Of 

89 


90  THE  SPVAjV  of  VILAMORTA. 

others,  however,  only  the  first  two  Hnes  occurred 
to  him,  and,  perhaps,  the  fourth — this  last  rounded, 
effective;  but  the  third  line  was  wanting  and  he 
must  hunt  for  it,  fill  up  the  space,  graft  on  the 
syllables  to  eke  out  the  meter.  The  poet  paused 
and  looked  up  at  the  ceiling,  biting  the  ends  of  his 
mustache,  and  then  the  idle  pen  traced,  obeying  the 
mechanical  impulse  of  the  hand,  a  cocked  hat,  a 
comet,  or  some  other  equally  irrelevant  design. 
Sometimes  after  rejecting  seven  or  eight  rhymes  he 
would  content  himself  with  the  ninth,  which  was 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  others.  When  a 
superfluous  syllable  would  cause  a  line  to  halt,  he 
must  look  for  another  adverb,  another  adjective. 
And  the  accents!  If  the  poet  could  only  enjoy  the 
privilege,  of  saying,  eternel,  for  instance,  instead  of 
eternel,  it  would  be  so  easy  to  write  verses  I 

Confounded  technical  difficulties!  The  divine 
fire  of  inspiration  glowed  and  burned  in  Segundo's 
mind,  but  as  soon  as  he  tried  to  transfer  it  to  the 
paper,  to  give  expression  to  what  he  felt — to  con- 
dense, in  words,  a  world  of  dreams,  a  psychic  nebula 
— his  mind  became  a  blank.  To  unite  the  form  with 
the  idea,  to  imprison  feeling  in  the  golden  Hnks  of 
rhyme !  Ah,  what  a  light  and  flowery  chain  in  ap- 
pearance, and  how  hard  to  weave  in  reality !     How 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  91 

deceptive  the  natural  grace,  the  facile  harmony  of 
the  master !  How  easy  it  seems  to  express  simple, 
familiar  images,  to  utter  the  chimeras  of  the  imagi- 
nation and  the  heart  in  easy  and  flowing  meter,  and 
yet  how  impossible  it  is,  for  him  who  is  not  called 
Becquer,  to  give  his  verse  those  palpitating,  diapha- 
nous, azure  wings  on  which  the  Becquerian  butterfly 
soars ! 

While  the  Swan  continues  his  task  of  effacing  and 
correcting,  Leocadia  is  in  her  bedroom,  preparing  to 
retire.  On  other  nights  she  went  to  her  room  with 
a  smile  on  her  lips,  her  face  glowing,  her  eyes  humid 
and  half-closed,  with  deep  circles  under  them,  her 
hair  in  disorder.  And  on  those  nights  she  was  in  no 
hurry  to  retire  ;  she  would  busy  herself  arranging  the 
articles  on  her  bureau,  she  would  even  look  at  her- 
self in  the  glass  of  her  cheap  toilet  table.  To-night 
her  lips  were  dry,  her  cheeks  pale,  she  went  at  once 
to  bed,  loosened  her  clothing,  and  let  it  fall  on  the 
floor,  put  out  the  light  and  buried  her  face  in  the 
cool,  thick  cotton  sheets.  She  did  not  wish  to  think, 
all  she  wished  was  to  forget  and  to  sleep.  She  tried 
to  lie  still.  A  thousand  needles  seemed  to  pierce  her 
flesh ;  she  turned  around,  in  search  of  a  cool  spot,^ 
then  turned  again  in  search  of  another,  and  presently 
she  threw  off  the   sheets.     She  felt  a  horrible  rest- 


92  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

lessness,  a  savor  of  bitterness  in  her  mouth.  In  the 
silence  of  the  night  she  could  hear  the  tumultuous 
beating  of  her  heart ;  if  she  lay  on  her  left  side  its 
noise  almost  deafened  her.  She  tried  to  fix  her 
thoughts  on  indifferent  subjects,  and  repeated  to  her- 
self with  monotonous  and  persistent  regularity — 
"To-morrow  is  Sunday,  the  children  will  not  come." 
In  vain;  her  brain  boiled,  her  blood  burned  as 
before.     Leocadia  was  jealous. 

Measureless,  nameless  torture  !  Hitherto  the  poor 
schoolmistress  had  not  known  the  accompaniment  of 
love,  jealousy,  whose  barbed  sting  pierces  the  soul, 
whose  consuming  fire  dries  up  the  blood,  whose 
chill  freezes  the  heart,  whose  restless  anguish  makes 
the  nerves  quiver.  Segundo  scarcely  noticed  the 
young  girls  of  Yilamorta ;  as  for  the  peasant  girls, 
they  did  not  exist  for  him,  he  did  not  even  regard 
them  as  women ;  so  that  Leocadia  had  attributed 
the  poet's  hours  of  coldness  to  the  bad  offices  of  the 
muses.  But  now  !  She  recalled  the  poem,  "A  los 
ojos  azules,"  and  his  manner  of  reciting  it.  Those 
honeyed  verses  were  to  her  gall  and  wormwood. 
Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  she  broke  into  convul- 
sive sobs  which  shook  her  frame  and  made  the  bed- 
stead creak  and  the  cornhusks  of  the  mattress  rustle. 
Still    her    overwrought    brain    did    not  suspend    its 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  93 

activity.  There  was  not  a  doubt  but  that  Segundo 
was  in  love  with  Senora  de  Comba;  but  she  was  a 
married  woman.  Bah !  in  Madrid  and  in  novels  all 
the  married  women  have  lovers.  And  then,  who 
could  resist  Segundo,  a  poet  who  was  the  rival  of 
Becquer,  who  was  young,  handsome,  ardent,  when 
he  wished  to  be  so? 

What  could  Leocadia  do  to  avert  this  great  calam- 
ity? Was  it  not  better  to  resign  herself  to  it?  Ah, 
resignation,  that  is  easily  said  !  Why  had  God  de- 
nied her  the  power  to  express  her  feelings?  Why 
had  she  not  knelt  before  Segundo,  begging  him  for  a 
little  love,  describing  to  him  and  communicating  to 
him  the  flame  that  consumed  the  marrow  of  her 
bones?  Why  had  she  remained  mute  when  she  had 
so  many  things  to  say?  Segundo  would  not  go  to 
Las  Vides;  so  much  the  better.  He  had  no  money; 
better  still.  He  would  accept  no  position,  he  would 
not  leave  Vilamorta,  better  and  better.  But  what 
did  it  matter  if  after  all  Segundo  did  not  love  her; 
if  he  had  turned  away  from  her  with  a  gesture  which 
she  could  still  see  in  the  darkness,  or  rather  in  the 
lurid  light  of  jealousy. 

How  warm  the  night  was !  How  restless  she  felt ! 
She  got  out  of  bed  and  threw  herself  on  the  floor, 
thinking  to  find  some   relief  in  the  coolness  of  the 


94  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

boards.  Instead  of  feeling  any  alleviation  she  was 
seized  with  a  fit  of  trembling.  A  lump  seemed  to 
rise  in  her  throat  that  prevented  her  from  breath- 
ing. She  made  an  effort  to  stand  up  but  found  that 
she  was  not  able ;  she  felt  a  hysterical  attack  com- 
ing on,  but  she  tried  to  restrain  her  cries,  her  sobs, 
her  contortions,  in  order  not  to  awaken  Flores.  For 
a  time  she  succeeded ;  but  at  last  the  nervous  crisis 
conquered  ;  her  rigid  limbs  writhed,  she  dug  her  nails 
into  her  throat,  she  rolled  about  and  beat  her  tem- 
ples against  the  floor.  Then  a  cold  perspiration 
broke  out  over  her  body,  and  for  a  moment  she  lost 
consciousness.  When  she  returned  to  herself  she 
was  calm  but  exhausted.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  went 
back  to  bed,  drew  the  clothing  over  her  and  sank 
into  a  sort  of  stupor,  in  which  there  was  neither 
thought  nor  feeling.  The  beneficent  sleep  of  early 
morning  had  wrapped  her  senses  in  oblivion. 

She  woke  late,  unrested,  exhausted,  and,  as  it 
were,  stupefied.  She  could  scarcely  manage  to  dress 
herself ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  a  year  had  passed 
since  the  night  before,  and  as  for  her  jealous  rage, 
her  projects  of  resistance — how  could  she  have 
thought  of  such  things?  All  that  mattered  to  her, 
all  she  desired,  was  that  Segundo  should  be  happy, 
that  he  should    achieve    his    high    destiny,  that    he 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  95 

should  be  famous.  The  rest  was  madness,  a  con- 
vulsion, an  attack  of  the  nerves  to  which  she 
had  given  way,  overcome  by  the  sense  of  her 
loneliness. 

The  schoolmistress  opened  the  bureau-drawer  in 
which  she  kept  her  savings  and  the  money  for  the 
household  expenses.  Beside  a  pile  of  stockings  was 
a  slim  and  flabby  purse.  A  short  time  ago  it  had 
contained  a  few  thousand  reals,  all  she  possessed  in 
money.  Scarcely  thirty  dollars  remained,  and  out 
of  these  she  must  pay  Cansin  for  a  black  merino 
dress,  the  confectioner  for  liqueurs,  and  some  friends 
at  Orense  for  purchases  made  on  her  account.  And 
she  would  not  receive  her  little  income  until  Novem- 
ber.    A  brilliant  prospect  truly ! 

After  a  moment  of  anguish  caused  by  the  struggle 
between  her  economical  principles  and  her  resolu- 
tion, Leocadia  washed  her  face,  smoothed  her  hair, 
put  on  her  dress  and  her  silk  manto  and  left  the 
house.  Being  Sunday,  the  streets  were  full  of  peo- 
ple, and  the  cracked  bell  of  the  chapel  kept  up  an 
incessant  ringing.  The  plaza  was  full  of  bustle  and 
animation.  Before  Doiia  Eufrasia's  door,  three  or 
four  mules,  whose  clerical  riders  were  in  the  shop,  were 
impatiently  trying  to  protect  themselves  from  the 
persistent  attacks  of  the  flies  and  hornets,  shaking 


g6  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

their  heads,  stamping  their  hoofs,  and  switching  their 
flanks  with  their  rough  tails.  And  the  fruit-venders, 
too,  in  the  intervals  between  selling  their  wares  and 
chatting  and  laughing  with  one  another,  were  watch- 
ful to  chase  away  the  troublesome  insects  that  set- 
tled on  the  cherries  and  tomatoes  wherever  the  skin 
was  broken,  leaving  uncovered  the  sweet  pulp  or  the 
red  flesh.  But  the  grand  conclave  of  the  flies  was 
held  in  the  confectionery  of  Ramon.  It  was  nause- 
ating to  see  the  insects  buzzing  blindly  in  the  hot 
atmosphere,  entangling  their  legs  in  the  caramels, 
and  then  making  desperate  efforts  to  free  themselves 
from  their  sweet  captivity.  A  swarm  of  flies  were 
buzzing  around  a  meringue  pie  which  adorned  the 
center  of  the  shelf,  and  Ramon  having  grown  tired 
of  defending  it  against  their  attacks,  the  invading 
army  rifled  it  at  their  pleasure ;  around  the  plate  lay 
the  bodies  of  the  flies  which  had  perished  in  the 
attack ;  some  dry  and  shriveled,  others  swollen  and 
with  white  and  livid  abdomens. 

Leocadia  entered  the  back  shop.  Ramon  was 
there,  with  his  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  exposing  his 
brawny  arms,  shaking  a  saucepan  gently  to  cool  the 
egg-paste  which  it  contained  ;  then  he  proceeded  to 
cut  the  paste  with  a  hot  knife,  the  sugar  fizzing  and 
sending  forth  a  pleasant  odor  as  it  carne  in  contact 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  97 

with  the  hot  metal.  The  confectioner  passed  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  his  perspiring  brow. 

What  did  Leocadia  want?  Brizar  anisette,  eh? 
Well,  it  was  all  sold.  "You,  Rosa,  isn't  it  true  that 
the  anisette  is  all  sold?" 

The  confectioner's  wife  was  seated  in  a  corner  of 
the  kitchen,  feeding  a  sickly-looking  infant.  She 
fixed  her  gloomy,  morbidly  jealous  gaze  on  the 
schoolmistress  and  cried  in  a  harsh  voice : 

"If  you  come  for  more  anisette,  remember  the 
three  bottles  that  are  still  unpaid  for." 

"I  will  pay  them  now,"  answered  the  schoolmis- 
tress, taking  a  handful  of  dollars  from  her  pocket. 

"Never  mind  that  now,  there  is  no  hurry,"  stam- 
mered the  confectioner,  ashamed  of  his  wife's  rude- 
ness. 

"Take  it,  Ramon.  Why,  it  was  to  give  it  to  you 
that  I  came." 

"If  you  insist;  but  the  deuce  a  hurry  I  was  in." 

Leocadia  hastened  away.  Not  to  have  remem- 
bered the  confectioner's  wife !  Who  would  ask  any- 
thing from  Ramon  before  that  jealous  tigress,  who, 
small  as  she  was,  and  sickly  as  she  looked,  ruled  her 
burly  husband  with  a  rod  of  iron.  Perhaps  Can- 
sin 

The  clothier  was  displaying  his  goods  to  a  group 


9^  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

of  countrywomen,  one  of  whom  persisted  in  declar- 
ing the  bunting  she  was  looking  at  to  be  cotton, 
rubbing  it  between  her  fingers  to  prove  herself  in  the 
right.  Cansin,  on  his  side,  was  rubbing  the  cloth 
with  exactly  opposite  views. 

"How  should  it  be  cotton,  woman,  how  should  it 
be  cotton?"  he  cried  in  his  shrill  voice,  putting  the 
cloth  close  to  the  buyer's  face.  Cansin  appeared  so 
angry  that  Leocadia  did  not  venture  to  address  him  ; 
she  passed  on,  quickening  her  steps.  She  thought 
of  her  other  suitor,  the  tavern-keeper.  But  she  sud- 
denly remembered,  with  a  feeling  of  repulsion,  his 
thick  lips,  his  cheeks  that  seemed  to  drip  blood. 
Turning  over  in  her  mind  every  possible  means  by 
which  she  might  obtain  the  money  she  needed,  a 
thought  occurred  to  her.  She  rejected  it,  she 
weighed  it,  she  accepted  it.  Quickening  her  pace, 
she  walked  toward  the  abode  of  the  lawyer  Garcia. 

At  her  first  knock  Aunt  Gaspara  opened  the  door. 
What  a  meaning  contraction  of  the  brow  and  lips, 
what  a  sour  face  greeted  her!  Leocadia,  abashed 
and  covered  Avith  confusion,  stood  still  on  the 
threshold.  The  old  woman,  like  a  vigilant  watch- 
dog, barred  the  entrance,  ready  to  bark  or  bite  at 
the  first  sign  of  danger. 

"What  did  you  want?"  she  growled. 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  99 

"To  speak  to  Don  Justo.  May  I?"  said  the 
schoolmistress  humbly. 

"I  don't  know.     I'll  see." 

And  the  dragon  without  further  ceremony  shut 
the  door  in  Leocadia's  face.  Leocadia  waited.  At 
the  end  of  ten  minutes  a  harsh  voice  called  to  her : 

"Come  on !" 

The  heart  of  the  schoolmistress  bounded  within 
her.  To  go  through  the  house  in  which  Segundo 
was  born !  It  was  dark  and  shabby,  cold  and  bare, 
like  the  abode  of  a  miser,  in  which  the  furniture  is 
made  to  do  service  until  it  falls  to  pieces  with  old 
age.  Crossing  a  hall,  Leocadia  saw  through  a  half- 
open  door  some  garments  belonging  to  Segundo 
hanging  on  a  peg,  and  recognized  them  with  a  secret 
thrill.  At  the  end  of  the  hall  was  the  lawyer's 
office,  an  ill-kept,  untidy  room,  full  of  papers  and 
dusty  and  uninteresting-looking  books.  Aunt  Gas- 
para  withdrew,  and  Leocadia  remained  standing 
before  the  lawyer,  who,  without  inviting  her  to  be 
seated,  said  to  her  with  a  suspicious  and  hostile  air, 
and  in  the  severe  tones  of  a  judge : 

"And  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Sefiora  Dona  Leo- 
cadia?" 

A  formula  accompanied  inwardly  by  the  observa- 
tion: 


lOO  THE  SWAN  OF  VTLAMORTA. 

"I  wager  that  the  scheming  schoolmistress  has 
come  to  tell  me  that  she  is  going  to  marry  that  crazy 
boy  and  that  I  shall  have  to  support  them  both." 

Leocadia  fixed  her  dejected  gaze  on  Garcia's  face, 
trying  to  discover  in  his  dry  and  withered  features 
some  resemblance  to  the  features  of  a  beloved  coun- 
tenance. His  face,  indeed,  resembled  Segundo's  in 
all  but  the  expression,  which  was  very  different; 
that  of  the  father's  being  as  cautious  and  suspicious 
as  the  son's  was  dreamy  and  abstracted. 

"Seiior  Don  Justo "  stammered  the  schoolmis- 
tress.    "I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you.     I  hope  you  will 

not  take  this  visit  amiss — they  told  me  that  you 

Senor — I  need  a  loan " 

"Money!"  roared  the  lawyer,  clenching  his  fists. 
"You  ask  me  for  money!" 

"Yes,  Senor,  on  some  property " 

"Ah!"  (sudden  transition  in  the  lawyer,  who  be- 
came all  softness  and  amiability).  "But  how  stupid 
I  am!  Come  in,  come  in  and  sit  down,  Doiia  Leo- 
cadia. I  hope  you  are  quite  well.  Why,  anyone 
might  find  himself  in  a  difficulty.  And  what  prop- 
erty is  it?  Talking  together  people  come  to  an  un- 
derstanding, Senora.  Perhaps  the  vineyard  of  La 
Junqueira,  or  the  other  little  one,  El  Adro?  Of  late 
years  they  have  yielded  little " 


THE  SWAN  OF  ViLAMOkTA.  tol 

The  business  was  discussed  and  the  promissory 
note  was  signed.  Aunt  Gaspara  meanwhile  walked 
uneasily  and  with  ghost-like  tread,  up  and  down  the 
hall  outside.  When  her  brother  issued  from  the 
room  and  gave  her  some  orders  she  crossed  herself 
hastily  several  times  on  the  forehead  and  the  breast. 
She  then  descended  stealthily  to  the  cellar,  and,  after 
some  little  delay,  returned  and  emptied  on  the  law- 
yer's table  the  contents  of  her  apron,  whence  rolled 
four  objects  covered  with  dust  and  cobwebs,  from 
which  proceeded,  as  they  struck  the  table,  the  pecu- 
liar sound  produced  by  coin.  These  objects  were 
an  earthern  savings-bank,  a  stocking,  a  leathern  sack, 
and  a  little  muslin  bag. 

That  afternoon  Leocadia  said  to  Segundo : 

"Do  you  know  what,  sweetheart?  It  is  a  pity  that 
for  the  sake  of  a  new  suit  or  some  such  trifle  you 
should  lose  the  chance  of  establishing  yourself  and 
obtaining  what  you  wish.  See,  I  have  a  little  money 
here  that  I  have  no  particular  use  for.  Do  you  want 
it,  eh?  I  will  give  it  to  you  now  and  you  can  return 
it  to  me  by  and  by." 

Segundo  drew  himself  up  and,  with  a  genuine  out- 
burst of  offended  dignity,  exclaimed  : 

"Never  propose  anything  like  that  to  me  again.  I 
accept  your  attentions  at  times  so  as  not  to  see  you 


I02  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

breaking  your  heart  at  my  refusal,  but  that  you  should 
clothe  me  and  support  me — no,  that  is  too  much." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  schoolmistress  renewed 
her  entreaties  affectionately,  availing  herself  of  the 
opportunity,  seeing  the  Swan  somewhat  pensive. 
Between  him  and  her  there  ought  to  be  no  mine  or 
thine.  Why  should  he  hesitate  to  accept  what  it 
afforded  her  so  great  a  pleasure  to  give?  Did  her 
future  by  chance  depend  upon  those  few  paltry  dol- 
lars? With  them  he  could  present  himself  decently 
at  Las  Vides,  publish  his  verses,  go  to  Madrid.  It 
would  make  her  so  happy  to  see  him  triumph,  eclipse 
Campoamor,  Nunez  de  Arce,  and  all  the  rest !  And 
what  was  there  to  prevent  Segundo  from  returning 
her  the  money,  and  with  interest,  too?  Talking 
thus,  Leocadia  filled  a  handkerchief  tied  at  the  four 
corners  with  ounces  and  doblillos  and  centenes  and 
handed  it  to  the  poet,  saying  in  a  voice  rendered 
husky  by  her  emotion  : 

**Will  you  slight  me?" 

Segundino  took  the  unbeautiful,  ungraceful  head 
of  the  schoolmistress  between  his  hands,  and  looking 
fixedly  in  the  eyes  that  looked  at  him  humid  with 
happiness  he  said : 

"Leocadia,  I  know  that  you  are  the  one  human 
being  in  this  world  who  loves  me  truly." 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  103 

"Segundino,  my  life,"  she  stammered,  beside  her- 
self with  happiness,  'Mt  isn't  worth  mentioning.  Just 
as  I  give  you  that — as  I  hope  for  salvation — I  would 
give  you  the  blood  from  my  veins!" 

And  what  would  Aunt  Gaspara  have  said  had  she 
known  that  several  of  the  ounces  from  the  stocking, 
the  savings-bank,  the  sack,  and  the  bag  would  return 
immediately,  loyal  and  well-trained,  to  sleep,  if  not 
under  the  rafters  of  the  cellar,  at  least  under  the 
roof  of  Don  Justo? 


IX. 

The  grapevine  of  Las  Vides  which  has  such  pleas- 
ant recollections  for  Don  Victoriano  Andres  de  la 
Comba,  bears  those  large,  substantial  grapes  of  the 
light  red  and  pale  green  hues  which  predominate  in 
Flemish  vineyards,  which  are  known  in  the  neighbor- 
hood by  the  name  of  ndparo  or  Jaen  grapes.  Its 
clusters  hang  in  long  corymbs  of  a  gracefully  irregu- 
lar shape,  half  hiding  themselves  among  the  thick  foli- 
age. The  vine  casts  a  cool  shade,  and  the  murmur 
of  a  slender  stream  of  water  that  falls  into  a  rough 
stone  basin  in  which  vegetables  lie  soaking,  adds  to 
the  air  of  peacefulness  of  the  scene. 

The  massive  building  looks  almost  like  a  fortress; 

the  main  building  is  flanked  by  two  square  towers, 

low-roofed  and  pierced  by  deep-set  windows ;  in  the 

middle   of  the    central  building,  above  a  long  iron 

balcony,  stands  out  the  large  escutcheon  with  the 

armorial   bearings  of   the   Mendez — five  vine-leaves 

and  a  wolf's  head    dripping    blood.     This    balcony 

commands  a  view  of  the  mountain  slope  and  of  the 

river  that  winds  below ;  at  the  side  of  one   of  the 

104 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  ioS 

towers  is  a  wooden  gallery,  open  to  the  sun,  which 
projects  over  the  garden,  and  where,  thanks  to  the 
southern  exposure,  fine  carnations  grow  luxuriantly 
in  old  pots  filled  with  mold,  and  wooden  boxes  over- 
flow with  sweet  basil,  Santa  Teresa's  feathers,  cactus, 
asclepias,  and  mallows — a  sun-loving,  rich,  Arabian 
flora  of  intoxicating  sweetness.  The  interior  of  the 
house  is  merel}^  a  series  of  whitewashed  rooms  with 
the  rafters  exposed  and  almost  without  furniture, 
excepting  the  central  room,  called  the  balcony-room, 
which  is  furnished  with  chairs  with  straw  seats  and 
wooden,  lyre-shaped  backs,  of  the  style  of  the  Empire. 
A  mirror  from  which  the  quicksilver  has  almost  dis- 
appeared, with  a  broad  ebony  frame  ornamented 
with  allegorical  figures  of  gilded  brass  representing 
Phoebus  driving  his  chariot,  hangs  above  the  sofa. 
The  pride  of  Las  Vides  is  not  the  rooms,  but  the 
cellar,  the  immense  wine-vault,  dark,  and  echoing, 
and  cool  as  the  aisle  of  a  cathedral,  with  its  large  vats 
ranged  in  a  line  on  either  side.  This  apartment,  un- 
rivaled in  the  Border,  is  the  one  which  Senor  de  las 
Vides  shows  with  most  pride — this  and  his  bedroom, 
which  has  the  peculiarity  of  being  impregnable,  as  it 
is  built  in  the  body  of  the  wall  and  can  be  entered 
only  through  a  narrow  passage  which  scarcely  affords 
room  for  a  man  to  turn  around. 


io6  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

Mendez  de  las  Vides  resembled  in  no  way  the  tra- 
ditional  type  ot  tiieignorant  lord  of  the  manor  who 
makes  a  cross  for  his  signature,  a  type  very  common 
in  that  inland  country.  On  the  countrary,  Mendez 
prided  himself  on  being  learned  and  cultured.  He 
wrote  a  good  hand — the  small,  close  handwriting 
characteristic  of  obstinate  old  age ;  he  read  well,  set- 
tling his  spectacles  on  his  nose,  holding  the  news- 
paper or  the  book  at  a  distance,  emphasizing  the 
words  in  a  measured  voice.  Only  his  culture  was 
confined  to  a  single  epoch — that  of  the  Encyclope- 
dists, with  whom  his  father  became  acquainted  late 
in  life,  and  he  himself  a  century  after  their  time. 
He  read  Holbach,  Rousseau,  Voltaire,  and  the  four- 
teen volumes  of  Feijoo.  He  bore  the  stamp  and 
seal  of  this  epoch  even  in  his  person.  In  religion  he 
was  a  deist,  never  neglecting,  however,  to  go  to  mass 
and  to  eat  fish  in  Holy  Week;  in  politics  he  was 
inclined  to  uphold  the  prerogatives  of  the  crown 
against  the  church.  Since  the  arrival  of  Don  Victor- 
iano,  however,  some  movement  had  taken  place  in 
the  stratified  ideas  of  the  hidalgo  of  Las  Vides.  He 
admired  English  independence,  the  regard  paid  to 
the  right  of  the  individual  combined  with  a  respect 
for  tradition  and  the  civilizing  influence  of  the  aris- 
tocratic classes — a  series  of  Saxon  importations  more 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  107 

or  less  felicitous  but  to  which  Don  Victoriano  owed 
his  political  success.  Uncle  and  nephew  spent  hour 
after  hour  discussing  these  abstruse  problems  of 
social  science,  while  Nieves  worked,  listening  with 
the  hope  of  hearing  the  trot  of  some  horse  sound  on 
the  stones  of  the  path  announcing  some  visitor, 
some  distraction  in  her  idle  existence. 

To  make  the  journey  to  Las  Vides,  Segundo  bor- 
rowed the  vicious  nag  of  the  alguazil.  From  the 
cross  onward  the  road  grew  precipitous  and  difficult. 
Smooth,  slippery  rocks  obstructed  the  way  at  times, 
so  that  the  rider  was  obliged  to  hold  a  tight  rein  to 
keep  the  animal,  whose  hoofs  slipped  continually, 
drawing  sparks  from  the  stone,  from  falling  headlong 
down  the  descent.  The  ground,  parched  by  the 
heat,  was  rugged  and  uneven.  The  houses  seemed 
to  cling  to  the  mountain^side,  threatening  to  lose 
their  hold  at  every  moment  and  topple  over  into  the 
river,  and  the  indispensable  pot  of  carnations,  whose 
flowers  peeped  through  the  rails  of  the  wooden  bal- 
conies, reminded  one  of  the  flower  with  which  a 
gypsy  carelessly  adorns  her  hair.  Sometimes  Se- 
gundo's  way  led  through  a  pine  grove,  and  he  in- 
haled the  balsamic  odor  of  the  resin  and  rode  over  a 
carpet  of  dry  leaves  which  deadened  the  sound  of 
his  horse's  hoofs;  suddenly,  between  two  fences,  a 


Io8  7'HE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

narrow  path,  bordered  by  blackberry  bushes,  fox- 
glove and  honeysuckle  would  open  before  him,  and 
not  unfrequently  he  experienced  the  delightful  sense 
of  well-being  produced  by  the  coolness  cast  by  um- 
brageous foliage  during  the  heat  of  the  day,  as  he 
rode  through  some  verdant  tunnel — under  some 
lofty  grape  arbor  supported  on  wooden  posts,  be- 
holding above  his  head  the  bunches  already  ripening, 
and  listening  to  the  noisy  twittering  of  the  sparrows 
and  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  blackbird.  Lizards  ran 
along  the  moss-covered  walls.  When  two  or  more 
paths  met  Segundo  would  rein  in  his  horse,  to  inquire 
the  way  to  Las  Vides  of  the  women  who  toiled 
wearily  up  the  steep  path,  bending  under  their  load 
of  pine  wood,  or  the  children  playing  at  the  doors  of 
the  houses. 

Far  below  ran  the  Avieiro,  that,  from  the  height  at 
which  Segundo  regarded  it,  looked  like  a  steel  blade 
flashing  and  quivering  in  the  sunshine.  Before  him 
was  the  mountain  where,  like  the  steps  of  a  colossal 
amphitheater,  rose  one  above  another  massive  walls 
of  whitish  stone,  erected  for  the  support  of  the  grape- 
vines, the  white  stripes  showing  against  the  green 
background,  forming  an  odd  combination  in  which 
stood  out  here  and  there  the  red  roof  of  some  dove- 
cote or  some  old  homestead,  the  whole  surmounted 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  109 

by  the  darker  green  of  the  pine  woods.  Segundo  at 
last  saw  below  him  the  tiles  of  Las  Vides.  He  de- 
scended a  steep  slope  and  found  himself  before  the 
portico. 

Under  the  grapevine  were  Victorina  and  Nieves. 
The  child  was  amusing  herself  jumping  the  rope, 
which  she  did  with  extraordinary  agility,  the  feet 
close  together,  without  moving  from  one  spot,  the 
rope  turning  so  rapidly  that  the  graceful  form  of  the 
jumper  seemed  to  be  enveloped  in  a  sort  of  mist. 
Through  the  interstices  in  the  foliage  of  the  grape- 
vine came  large  splashes  of  sunshine  suddenly  flood- 
ing the  girl's  form  with  light,  in  which  her  hair,  her 
arms  and  her  bare  legs  gleamed,  for  she  wore  only  a 
loose  navy  blue  blouse  without  sleeves.  When  she 
caught  sight  of  Segundo  she  gave  a  little  cry, 
dropped  the  rope  and  disappeared.  Nieves,  to  make 
amends,  rose  from  the  bench  where  she  had  been 
working,  with  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  slight  flush 
of  surprise  on  her  cheeks,  and  extended  her  hand  to 
the  newcomer,  who  made  haste  to  dismount  from 
his  horse. 

"And  Seftor  Don  Victoriano,  how  is  he?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  he  is  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood ;  he  is 
very  well,  and  very  much  interested  in  the  labors  of 


no  THE  SIVAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

the  country — very  contented."  Nieves  said  these 
words  with  the  abstracted  air  with  which  we  speak 
of  things  that  possess  only  a  sHght  interest  for  us. 
Segundo  observed  that  the  glance  of  the  Minister's 
wife  rested  on  his  fine  suit,  which  he  had  just  re- 
ceived from  Orense ;  and  the  idea  that  she  might 
think  it  pretentious  or  ridiculous  disturbed  him  so 
greatly  for  a  time  that  he  regretted  not  having  worn 
his  ordinary  clothes. 

"You  frightened  away  Victorina,"  continued 
Nieves,  smiling.  "Where  can  the  silly  child  have 
disappeared  to?  No  doubt  she  ran  away  because 
she  had  on  only  a  blouse.  You  treat  her  like  a 
woman,  and  she  is  growing  unbearable.     Come." 

Nieves  gathered  up  the  skirt  of  her  morning  gown 
of  white  cretonne  spotted  with  rosebuds,  and  made 
her  way  intrepidly  into  the  kitchen,  which  was  on  a 
level  with  the  yard.  Following  the  little  Louis  XV. 
heels  covered  by  the  Breton  lace  of  her  petticoat, 
Segundo  passed  through  several  rooms — the  kitchen, 
the  dining-room,  the  Rosary  room,  so  called  because 
in  it  Primo  Genday  said  prayers  with  the  servants, 
and  finally  the  balcony  room.  Here  Nieves  stopped, 
saying : 

"I  will  call  to  them  if  they  chance  to  be  in  the 
vineyard." 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.    ^  m 

And  leaning  out  of  the  window,  she  cried : 

** Uncle!     Victoriano !     Uncle!" 

Two  voices  responded. 

"What  is  it?     We  are  coming." 

Finding  nothing  opportune  to  say,  Segundo  was 
silent.  Her  conscience  at  rest,  now  that  she  had 
called  the  elders,  Nieves  turned  toward  him  and 
said,  with  the  graciousness  of  a  hostess  who  knows 
what  are  the  duties  of  her  position : 

"  How  good  this  is  of  you  !  We  had  not  thought 
you  would  care  to  come  before  the  vintage.  And 
now  that  the  holidays  are  approaching — indeed  I 
supposed  we  should  see  you  in  Vilamorta  before  see- 
ing you  here,  as  Victoriano  has  determined  to  take 
a  fortnight's  course  of  the  waters." 

She  leaned  against  the  wall  as  she  spoke,  and 
Segundo  tapped  the  toe  of  his  boot  with  his  whip. 
From  the  garden  came  the  voice  of  Mendez : 

"Nieves!  Nieves!  Come  down,  if  it  is  all  the 
same  to  you." 

"Excuse  me,  I  am  going  for  a  parasol." 

She  soon  returned,  and  Segundo  offered  her  his 
arm.  They  descended  into  the  garden  through  the 
gallery,  and  after  the  customary  greetings  were  over 
Mendez  protested  against  Segundo's  returning  that 
afternoon  to  Vilamorta. 


112  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

**The  idea!     A  pretty  thing  that  would  be!     To 
expose  yourself  to  the  heat  twice  in  the  same  day !" 

And   Senor  de  las  Vides,  availing   himself  of  an 
opportunity  which  no  rural  proprietor  ever  lets  slip, 
took  possession  of  the  poet  and  gave  himself  up  to 
the  task  of  showing  him  over  the  estate.     He  ex- 
plained to   him  at    the   same    time  his    viticultural 
enterprises.     He  had  been  among  the  first  to  em- 
ploy sulphur  fumigation  with  success,  and  he  was 
now  using  new  manures  which  would  perhaps  solve 
the  problem  of  grape  cultivation.     He  was  making 
experiments  with  the  common  wine  of  the  Border, 
trying  to  make  with  it  an  imitation  of  the  rich  Bor- 
deaux; to  impart  to  it,  with  powdered  lily-root,  the 
bouquet,  the  fragrance,  of  the  French  wines.     But 
he   had    to    contend    against  the    spirit  of  routine, 
fanaticism,  as   he    said,  confidentially  lowering   his 
voice  and  laying  his  hand  on  Segundo's  shoulder. 
The  other  vine-growers  accused  him  of  disregarding 
the  wholesome  traditions  of  the  country,  of  adulter- 
ating and  making  up  wine.     As  if  they  themselves 
did  not  make  it  up.     Only   that  they  did  so,  using 
common  drugs  for  the  purpose — logwood  and  night- 
shade.      He    contented     himself    with     employing 
rational  methods,  scientific  discoveries,  the  improve- 
ments of  modern  chemistry,  condemning  the  absurd 


THE  S IV A  N  OF  VILA MOR  TA.  113 

custom  of  using  pitch  in  the  skins,  for  although  the 
people  of  the  Border  approved  of  the  taste  of  pitch  in 
the  wine,  saying  that  the  pitch  excited  thirst,  the 
exporters  disliked,  and  with  reason,  the  stickiness 
imparted  by  it.  In  short,  if  Segundo  would  like  to 
see  the  wine  vaults  and  the  presses 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  Nieves  remained  at  the 
door,  fearing  to  soil  her  dress.  When  they  came  out 
they  proceeded  to  inspect  the  garden  in  detail.  The 
garden,  too,  was  a  series  of  walls  built  one  above  an- 
other, like  the  steps  of  a  stairs,  sustaining  narrow 
belts  of  earth,  and  this  arrangement  of  the  ground 
gave  the  vegetation  an  exuberance  that  was  almost 
tropical.  Camellias,  peach  trees,  and  lemon  trees 
grew  in  wild  luxuriance,  laden  at  once  with  leaves, 
fruits,  and  blossoms.  Bees  and  butterflies  circled 
and  hummed  around  them,  sipping  their  sweets,  wild 
with  the  joy  of  mere  existence  and  drunken  with  the 
sunshine.  They  ascended  by  steep  steps  from  wall 
to  wall.  Segundo  gave  his  arm  to  Nieves  and  at  the 
last  step  they  paused  to  look  at  the  river  flowing 
below. 

"Look  there,"  said  Segundo,  pointing  to  a  distant 
hill  on  his  left.  "There  is  the  pine  grove.  I  wager 
you  have  forgotten." 


114  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

''I  have  not  forgotten,"  responded  Nieves,  wink- 
ing her  blue  eyes  dazzled  by  the  sun;  "the  pine 
grove  that  sings.  You  see  that  I  have  not  forgotten. 
And  tell  me,  do  you  know  if  it  will  sing  to-day?  For 
I  should  greatly  like  to  hear  it  sing  this  afternoon." 

"If  a  breeze  rises.  With  the  air  as  still  as  it  is 
now,  the  pines  will  be  almost  motionless  and  almost 
silent.  And  I  say  almost,  for  they  are  never  quite 
silent.  The  friction  of  their  tops  is  sufficient  to 
cause  a  peculiar  vibration,  to  produce  a  murmur " 

"And  does  that  happen,"  asked  Nieves  jestingly, 
"only  with  the  pines  here  or  is  it  the  same  with  all 
pines?" 

'T  cannot  say,"  answered  Segundo,  looking  at  her 
fixedly.  "Perhaps  the  only  pine  grove  that  will  ever 
sing  for  me  will  be  that  of  Las  Vides." 

Nieves  lowered  her  eyes,  and  then  glanced  round, 
as  if  in  search  of  Don  Victoriano  and  Mendez,  who 
were  on  one  of  the  steps  above  them.  Segundo 
observed  the  movement  and  with  rude  imperious- 
ness  said  to  Nieves: 

"Let  us  join  them." 

They  rejoined  their  companions  and  did  not  again 
separate  from  them  until  they  entered  the  dining- 
room,  where    Genday   and  Tropiezo  were  awaiting 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  1 15 

them.  The  last  to  arrive  was  the  child,  now  mod- 
estly attired  in  a  pique  frock  and  long  stockings. 

The  table  at  which  they  dined  was  placed,  not  in 
the  center,  but  at  one  side  of  the  dining-room ;  it 
was  square  and  at  the  sides,  instead  of  chairs,  stood 
two  oaken  benches,  dark  with  age,  as  seats  for  the 
guests.  The  head  and  foot  of  the  table  were  left 
free  for  the  service.  Sober  by  nature,  Segundo 
noticed  with  surprise  the  extraordinary  quantity  of 
food  consumed  by  Don  Victoriano,  observing  at  the 
same  time  that  his  face  was  thinner  than  before. 
Now  and  then  the  statesman  paused  remorsefully, 
saying : 

'T  am  eating  ravenously." 

The  Amphitryon  protested,  and  Tropiezo  and 
Genday  expounded  in  turn  liberal  and  consoling  doc- 
trines. "Nature  is  very  wise,"  said  Senor  de  las  Vides, 
who  had  not  forgotten  Rousseau,  "and  he  who  obeys 
her  cannot  go  astray."  Primo  Genday,  fond  of  eat- 
ing, like  all  plethoric  people,  added  with  a  certain 
theological  unction  :  "In  order  that  the  soul  may  be 
disposed  to  serve  God  the  reasonable  requirements  of 
the  body  must  first  be  attended  to."  Tropiezo,  on 
his  side,  pushed  out  his  lower  lip,  denying  the  exist- 
ence  of   certain   new-fangled    diseases.      Since   the 


ri6  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

world  began  there  had  been  people  who  suffered  as 
Don  Victoriano  was  suffering  and  no  one  had  ever 
thought  of  depriving  them  of  eating  and  drinking, 
quite  the  contrary.  For  the  very  reason  that  the 
disease  was  a  wasting  one  it  was  necessary  to  eat 
well.  Don  Victoriano  allowed  himself  to  be  easily 
persuaded.  Those  dishes  of  former  times,  those 
antiquated,  miraculous  cruet-stands  in  which  the  oil 
and  the  vinegar  came  from  the  same  tube  without 
ever  mingling,  that  immense  loaf  placed  on  the  table 
as  a  center-piece,  were  for  him  so  many  delightful 
relics  of  the  past,  which  reminded  him  of  happy 
hours,  the  irresponsible  years  of  existence.  At  the 
dessert,  when  Primo  Genday,  still  heated  with  a  polit- 
ical discussion  in  which  he  had  characterized  the 
liberals  as  uncircumcised,  suddenly  grew  very  serious 
and  proceeded  to  recite  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  Min- 
ister, a  confirmed  rationalist,  was  surprised  at  the 
devoutness  with  which  he  murmured — "Our  daily 
bread."  Caramba,  those  memories  of  the  days  when 
one  was  young!  Don  Victoriano  grew  young  again 
in  going  over  those  recollections  of  his  boyish  days. 
He  even  called  to  mind  ephemeral  engagements,  flir- 
tations of  a  fortnight  with  young  ladies  of  the  Border 
who,  at  the    present    time,  must    be    withered    old 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILA  MOR  TA.  n  7 

maids  or  respectable  mothers  of  families.  A  pretty- 
fool  he  was !  The  ex-Minister  laid  down  his  napkin 
and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Do  you  sleep  the  siesta?"  he  asked  Segundo. 

"No,  Senor." 

"Nor  I  either;  let  us  go  and  smoke  a  cigar 
together." 


X. 

They  seated  themselves  near  the  window  in  the 
parlor  in  a  couple  of  rocking-chairs  brought  from 
Orense.  The  garden  and  the  vineyard  breathed  a 
lazy  tranquillity,  a  silence  so  profound  that  the  dull 
sound  of  the  ripe  peaches  breaking  from  the  branch 
and  falling  on  the  dry  ground  could  be  plainly 
heard.  Through  the  open  window  came  odors  of 
fruit  and  honey.  In  the  house  unbroken  silence 
reigned. 

"Will  you  have  a  cigar?" 

"Thanks." 

The  cigars  were  lighted  and  Segundo,  following 
Don  Victoriano's  example,  began  to  rock  himself. 
The  rhythmical  movement  of  the  rocking-chairs,  the 
drowsy  quiet  of  the  place,  invited  to  a  serious  and 
confidential  conversation. 

"And  you,  what  do  you  do  in  Vilamorta?  You 
are  a  lawyer,  are  you  not.  I  think  I  have  heard  that 
it  is  your  intention  to  succeed  your  father  in  his 
practice — a  very  intelligent  man." 

Segundo    felt  that  the   occasion   was   propitious. 

ii8 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  ti9 

The  smoke  of  the  cigars,  diffusing  itself  through  the 
atmosphere,  softened  the  light,  disposing  him  to 
confidence  and  dispelling  his  habitual  reserve. 

**The  thought  of  beginning  now  the  career  my 
father  is  just  ending  horrifies  me,"  he  said,  in  answer 
to  the  ex-Minister's  question.  "That  sordid  strug- 
gle to  gain  a  little  money,  more  or  less,  those  village 
intrigues,  that  miserable  plotting  and  planning,  that 
drawing-up  of  documents — I  was  made  for  none  of 
those  things,  Senor  Don  Victoriano.  It  is  not  that 
I  could  not  practice.  I  have  been  a  fair  student  and 
my  good  memory  always  brought  me  safely  through 
in  the  examinations.  But  for  what  does  the  profes- 
sion of  law  serve?  For  a  foundation,  nothing  more. 
It  is  a  passport,  a  card  of  admission  to  some  office." 

Well "  said  Don  Victoriano,  shaking  the  ashes 

from  his  cigar,  "what  you  say  is  true,  very  true.  What 
is  learned  at  the  University  is  of  scarcely  any  use 
afterward.  As  for  me,  if  it  had "  not  been  for  my 
apprenticeship  with  Don  Juan  Antonio  Prado,  who 
taught  me  to  make  a  practical  use  of  my  legal 
knowledge  and  to  know  how  many  teeth  there  are 
in  a  comb,  I  should  not  have  distinguished  myself 
greatly  by  my  Compostelan  learning.  My  friend, 
what  makes  a  man  of  one,  what  really  profits  one  is 
this  terrible  apprenticeship,  the  position  in  which  a 


120  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

boy  finds  himself  when  a  pile  of  papers  is  set  before, 
him,  and  a  pompous  gentleman  says  to  him,  'Study 
this  question  to-day  and  have  read}^  for  me  by  to- 
morrow a  formulated  opinion  on  it.'  There  is  the 
rub !  That  is  what  makes  you  sweat  and  bite  your 
nails!  There  neither  laziness  nor  ignorance  will 
avail  you.  The  thing  must  be  done,  and  as  it  can- 
not be  done  by  magic '* 

"Even  in  Madrid  and  on  a  large  scale  the  prac- 
tice of  the  law  has  no  attractions  for  me.  I  have 
other  aspirations." 

'T^et  us  hear  what  they  are." 

Segundo  hesitated,  restrained  by  a  feeling  of  shy- 
ness, as  if  he  had  been  going  to  narrate  a  dream  or 
to  descant  on  the  delights  of  love.  He  followed 
with  his  eyes  for  a  few  moments  the  blue  smoke 
curling  upward  and  finally,  the  semi-obscurity  of  the 
room,  secluded  as  a  confessional,  dissipated  his  re- 
serve. 

"  I  wish  to  follow  the  profession  of  literature,"  he 
returned. 

The  statesman  stopped  rocking  himself  and  took 
his  cigar  from  his  mouth. 

"But  my  boy,  literature  is  not  a  profession!"  he 
said.  "  There  is  no  such  thing  as  the  profession  of 
literature !      Let    us    understand    each    other — have 


THE  SWAN-  OF  VILAMOR TA.  121 

you  ever  been  out  of  Vilamorta?     I  mean  beyond 
Santiago  and  the  neighboring  towns?  " 
J\o,  benor. 

"Then  I  can  understand  those  illusions  and  those 
childish  notions.  They  still  believe  here  that  a 
writer  or  a  poet,  from  the  mere  fact  of  his  being 
such,  may  aspire  to — and  what  do  you  write?" 

"Poetry." 

"You  don't  write  prose  at  all?" 

"An  occasional  essay  or  newspaper  article.  Very 
little." 

"Bravo!  Well,  if  you  trust  to  poetry  to  make 
your  way  in  the  world — I  have  remarked  something 
curious  in  this  place  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what 
it  is.  Verses  are  still  read  here  with  interest,  and  it 
seems  the  girls  learn  them  by  heart.  But  in  the 
capital  I  assure  you  there  is  scarcely  anyone  who 
cares  for  poetry.  You  are  twenty  or  thirty  years 
behind  the  age  here — at  the  height  of  the  romantic 
period." 

Segundo,  annoyed,  said  with  some  vehemence: 

"And  Campoamor?  And  Nunez  de  Arce?  And 
Grilo?  Are  they  not  famous  poets?  Are  they  not 
popular?" 

"Campoamor  ?  They  read  him  because  he  is  very 
witty,  and  he  sets  the  girls  thinking  and  he  makes 


1 2 2  THE  SWAN  OF  VILA MOR TA .    . 

the  men  laugh.  He  has  his  merit,  and  he  amuses 
while  he  philosophizes.  But  remember  that  neither 
he  nor  Nunez  de  Arce  lives  by  writing  verses. 
Much  prosperity  that  would  bring  them !  As  to 
Grilo — well,  he  has  his  admirers  among  ladies  of 
rank,  and  the  Queen  Mother  publishes  his  poems, 
and  as  far  as  we  can  judge  he  has  plenty  of  money. 
But  convince  yourself  that  no  one  will  ever  grow 
rich  by  following  the  road  that  leads  to  Parnassus. 
And  this  is  when  masters  are  in  question,  for  of 
poets  of  a  secondary  rank,  young  men  who  string 
rhymes  together  with  more  or  less  facility,  there  are 
probably  now  in  Madrid  some  two  or  three  hun- 
dred. Have  you  ever  heard  of  any  of  them?  No; 
nor  I  either.  A  few  friends  praise  them  when  they 
publish  anything  in  some  insignificant  review.  But 
there  is  no  need  to  go  on.  In  plain  words,  it  is  time 
lost." 

Segundo  silently  vented  his  anger  on  his  cigar. 

''Don't  take  what  I  say  as  an  offense,"  continued 
Don  Victoriano.  "I  know  little  about  literature, 
although  in  my  youthful  days  I  wrote  quhitillas^ 
like  everybody  else.  Besides,  I  have  seen  noth- 
ing of  what  you  have  written,  so  that  my  opinion  is 
impartial  and  my  advice  sincere." 

"My  ambition,"  began   Segundo  at   last,  "is  not 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  123 

confined  exclusively  to  lyric  poetry.  Perhaps  later 
I  might  prefer  the  drama — or  prose.  Who  knows? 
I  only  want  to  try  my  fortune." 

Don  Victoriano  rose  and  stepped  out  into  the  bal- 
cony. Suddenly  he  returned,  placed  both  hands  on 
Segurdo's  shoulders,  and  putting  his  clean-shaven 
face  close  to  the  face  of  the  poet,  said  with  a  pity 
which  was  not  feigned : 

"Poor  boy!  How  many,  many  disappointments 
are  in  store  for  you  !" 

And  as  Segundo,  astonished  at  this  sudden 
effusion,  remained  silent,  he  continued  :  \ 

"Novice  as  you  are,  you  have  no  means  of  know- 
ing what  you  are  doing.  I  am  sorry  for  you.  You 
are  deluding  yourself.  In  the  present  state  of  so- 
ciety, in  order  to  attain  eminence  in  anything,  you 
must  sweat  blood  like  Christ  in  the  garden  of  Geth- 
semane.  If  it  is  lyric  poetry  that  is  in  question, 
God  help  you !  If  you  write  comedies  or  farces, 
you  have  an  enviable  fate  before  you — to  flatter  the 
actors,  to  have  your  manuscript  lie  neglected  in  the 
corner  of  a  drawer,  to  have  half  an  act  cut  out  at  a 
stroke;  and  then  the  dread  of  the  first  night,  and  of 
what  comes  after  it — which  may  be  the  worst  of  all. 
If  you  become  a  journalist,  you  will  not  have  ten 
minutes  in  the  .day  to  yourself,  you  will   make  the 


124  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

reputation  of  others,  and  you  will  never  see  even  so 
much  as  the  shadow  of  your  own.  If  j^ou  write 
books — but  who  reads  in  Spain?  And  if  you  throw 
yourself  into  politics — ah,  then  indeed  !" 

Segundo,  his  eyes  cast  down,  his  gaze  wandering 
over  the  pine  knots  in  the  boarded  floor,  listened 
without  opening  his  lips  to  those  convincing  accents 
that  seemed  to  tear  away  one  by  one  the  rose-leaves 
of  his  illusions,  with  the  same  strident  sound  with 
which  the  nail  of  the  speaker  flicked  away  the  ash  of 
his  cigar.  At  last  he  raised  his  contracted  face  and 
looking  at  the  statesman  said,  not  without  a  touch 
of  sarcasm  in  his  voice : 

"As  for  politics,  Senor  Don  Victoriano,  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  ought  not  to  speak  ill  of  that.  It 
has  treated  you  well ;  you  have  no  cause  of  com- 
plaint against  it.  For  you  politics  has  not  been  a 
stepmother." 

Don  Victoriano's  countenance  changed,  showing 
plainly  the  ravages  disease  had  made  in  his  organ- 
ism ;  and  rising  to  his  feet  a  second  time,  he  threw 
away  his  cigar  and,  walking  up  and  down  the  room 
with  hasty  steps,  he  burst  forth  passionately,  in 
words  that  rushed  from  his  lips  in  a  sudden  flood,  in 
an  impetuous  and  unequal  stream,  like  the  stream  of 
blood  gushing  from  a  severed  artery : 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  125 

"Don't  touch  that  point.  Be  silent  about  that, 
boy.  How  do  you,  how  does  anybody  know  what 
those  things  are  until  he  has  thrown  himself  head- 
long into  them  and  is  caught  fast  and  cannot  escape ! 
If  I  were  to  tell  you — but  it  is  impossible  to  tell 
one's  whole  life,  day  by  day,  to  describe  a  battle 
which  has  lasted  for  ye*irs,  without  rest  or  respite. 
To  struggle  in  order  to  make  one's  self  known,  to 
go  on  struggling  to  keep  one's  self  from  being  for- 
gotten, to  pass  from  law  to  politics,  from  a  wheel 
set  with  knives  to  a  bed  of  live  coals,  to  fight  in 
Congress  without  faith,  without  conviction,  because 
one  must  fight  to  keep  the  place  one  has  won ;  and 
with  all  this  not  to  have  a  free  hour,  not  a  tranquil 
moment,  not  have  time  for  anything.  One  achieves 
fortune  when  one  no  longer  has  the  inclination  to 
enjoy  it ;  one  marries  and  has  a  family  and — one  has 
hardly  liberty  to  accompany  one's  wife  to  the 
theater.  Don't  talk  to  me.  A  hell,  a  hell  upon 
earth  is  what  politics  is.  Would  you  believe"  (and 
here  he  uttered  a  round  oath)  "that  when  my  little 
girl  was  beginning  to  walk,  I  proposed  to  myself  one 
day  to  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  her  out  walk- 
ing— a  caprice,  a  whim.  Well,  I  was  going  down- 
stairs with  the  child  in  my  arms,  very  contented, 
when  lo,  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  the  Mar- 


126  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

quis  of  Cameros,  a  candidate  for  representative  from 
Galicia,  who  had  come  to  ask  me  for  fifteen  or 
twenty  letters — written  in  my  own  hand  so  that  they 
might  prove  more  efficacious.  And  I  was  such  a 
fool,  man,  I  was  such  a  fool,  that  instead  of  throw- 
ing the  Marquis  down  the  stairs,  as  I  ought  to  have 
done,  I  walked  back  my  two  flights,  gave  the  child 
to  her  nurse,  and  shut  myself  up  in  my  office 
to  prepare  the  election.  And  it  was  the 
same  thing  always ;  tell  me,  then,  have  I  reason 
or  not  to  abominate  such  folly,  such  humbug? 
Ah,  what  pains  we  are  at  to  make  ourselves 
miserable ! " 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it ;  in  the  voice  of  the 
statesman  there  was  the  sound  of  repressed  tears; 
in  his  throat  smothered  curses  and  blasphemies 
struggled  for  utterance.  Segundo,  to  do  something, 
threw  open  the  window  leading  to  the  balcony. 
The  sun  was  low  in  the  heavens;  the  heat  had  grown 
less  intense. 

"And  worst  of  all — the  consequences  I"  continued 
Don  Victoriano,  pausing  in  his  walk.  "You  strive 
and  struggle  without  pausing  to  reflect  what  will  be 
the  effect  upon  your  health.  You  fight,  like  the 
knights  of  old,  with  visor  down.  But  as  vou  are  not 
made  of  iron,  but  only  of  flesh  and  blood,  when  you 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  127 

least  expect  it,  you  find  yourself  sick,  sick,  wounded, 
without  knowing  where.  You  do  not  lose  blood, 
but  you  lose  the  sap  of  life,  like  a  lemon  that  is 
squeezed,"  And  the  ex-Minister  laughed  bitterly. 
"And  you  want  to  stop,  to  rest,  to  get  back  health  at 
any  cost,  and  you  find  that  it  is  too  late ;  you  have 
not  a  drop  of  moisture  left  in  your  body.  Well, 
keep  on  until  there  is  an  end  to  you.  Much  your 
labors  and  your  triumphs  have  profited  you  !  You 
have  drawn  down  on  yourself  a  doom  from  which 
there  is  no  escape  I" 

He  spoke  with  gesticulations,  thrusting  his  hands 
into  his  trousers  pockets  in  an  outbrust  of  confi- 
dence, expressing  himself  with  as  little  reserve  as  if 
he  had  been  alone.  And  in  reality  he  was  talking 
to  himself.  His  words  were  a  monologue,  the  spoken 
utterance  of  the  gloomy  thoughts  which  Don  Vic- 
toriano,  thanks  to  heroic  efforts,  had  hitherto  been 
able  to  conceal  in  his  own  breast.  The  strange 
malady  from  which  he  suffered  gave  rise  to  horrible 
nightmares ;  he  dreamed  that  he  was  turning  into  a 
loaf  of  sugar  and  that  his  intellect,  his  blood,  his  life, 
were  flowing  away  from  him,  through  a  deep,  deep 
channel,  converted  into  syrup.  In  his  waking  mo- 
ments his  mind  refused  to  accept,  as  one  refused  to 
accept  a  humiliation,  so  strange  a  malady.     Sanchez 


128  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

del  Abrojo  must  be  mistaken ;  his  was  some  func- 
tional, transitory  disorder,  an  ordinary  ailment,  the 
result  of  his  sedentary  life,  and  Tropiezo's  old-fash- 
ioned remedies  would  perhaps  after  all  prove  more 
efficacious  than  those  of  science.  And  if  they  did 
not?  The  statesman  felt  a  cold  chill  run  through 
him  that  made  his  hair  stand  on  end  and  constricted 
his  heart.  To  die  when  he  was  scarcely  past  forty, 
with  his  mental  powers  unimpaired,  with  so  many 
things  begun,  so  many  accomplished !  And  no 
doubt  this  consuming  thirst,  this  insatiable  voracity, 
this  debilitating  sensation  of  melting  away,  of  fu- 
sion, of  dissolving,  were  all  fatal  symptoms. 

Suddenly  Don  Victoriano  remembered  the  pres- 
ence of  Segundo,  which  he  had  almost  forgotten. 
And  laying  both  hands  on  his  shoulders  a  second 
time,  and  fixing  on  the  poet's  eyes,  his  dry  eyes, 
scorched  by  repressed  tears,  he  cried  : 

"Do  you  wish  to  hear  the  truth,  and  to  receive 
good  advice?  Have  you  ambitions,  aspirations, 
hopes?  Well,  I  have  had  disappointments,  and  I 
desire  to  do  you  a  service  by  recounting  them  to 
you  now.  Don't  be  a  fool;  stay  here  all  your  life; 
.  help  your  father,  take  up  his  practice  when  he  lays 
it  down,  and  marry  that  blooming  daughter  of 
Agonde.     Never  leave  this  land  of  fruits,  of  vines, 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  129 

\^hose  climate  is  so  delightful.  What  would  I  not 
give  now  never  to  have  left  it !  No,  my  boy,  remain 
quietly  here ;  end  a  long  life  here  surrounded  by 
a  numerous  progeny.  Have  you  observed  how 
healthy  your  father  is?  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  him, 
with  his  teeth  so  sound  and  perfect.  I  have  not  a 
single  tooth  that  is  not  decayed ;  they  say  that  it  is 
one  of  the  symptoms  of  my  malady.  Why,  if  your 
mother  were  living  now  you  would  be  having  little 
brothers  and  sisters." 

Segundo  smiled. 

"But,  Sefior  Don  Victoriano,"  he  said,  *'to  act  out 
your  ideas  would  be  to  vegetate,  not  to  live." 

"And  what  greater  happiness  than  to  vegetate," 
responded  the  statesman,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. "Do  you  think  those  trees  there  are  not  to 
be  envied?" 

The  garden,  indeed,  seen  in  the  light  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  had  a  certain  air  of  volputuous  bliss,  as  if  it 
were  enjoying  a  happy  dream. 

The  lustrous  leaves  of  the  lemon  trees  and  the 
camellias,  the  gummy  trunks  of  the  fruit  trees, 
seemed  to  drink  in  with  delight  the  fresh  evening 
breeze,  precursor  of  the  vivifying  dews  of  night. 
The  golden  atmosphere  took  on  in  the  dista-nce  faint 
lilac  tints.     Innumerable  noises  began  to  make  them- 


Tjo  THE  SWAN  OF  VI LA M OR  f A. 

selves  heard,  preludes  to  songs  of  insects,  to  the  con- 
certs of  the  frogs  and  toads. 

The  pensive  tranquillity  of  the  scene  was  broken 
in  upon  by  the  quick  trot  of  a  mule,  and  Clodio  Gen- 
day,  out  of  breath,  flung  himself  out  of  his  saddle, 
and  reeled  into  the  garden.  Gesticulatng  with  his 
hands,  with  his  head,  with  his  whole  body,  he  called, 
screamed,  vociferated : 

"Oh,  I  have  a  nice  piece  of  news  for  you,  a  nice 
piece  of  news !  I  will  be  there  directly,  I  will  be 
there  directly!" 

They  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  leading  to 
the  garden,  to  meet  him,  and  when  he  rushed  upon 
them,  like  an  arrow  shot  from  a  bow,  they  saw  that 
he  wore  neither  collar  nor  cravat,  and  that  his  dress 
was  in  the  utmost  disorder. 

"A  mere  bagatelle,  Senor  Don  Victoriano — that 
they  are  playing  a  trick  upon  us ;  that  they  have 
played  it  already,  that  unless  we  take  prompt  meas- 
ures we  shall  lose  the  district.  You  would  not  be- 
lieve it,  if  I  were  to  tell  you  of  all  the  plans  they 
have  been  laying,  for  a  long  time  past,  at  Dona  Eu- 
frasia's  shop.  And  we  simpletons  suspecting  noth- 
ing. And  all  the  priests  are  in  the  plot ;  the  parish 
priests  of  Lubrego,  of  Boan,  of  Naya,  and  of  Cebre. 
They  have  set  up  as  a  candidate  Senorito  de  Romero 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  .  131 

of  Orense,  who  is  willing  to  loosen  his  purse-strings. 
But  where  is  Primo,  that  good-for-nothing,  that  scare- 
crow, who  never  found  out  a  word  of  all  this?" 

"We  will  look  for  him,  man.  What  do  you  tell 
me,  what  do  you  tell  me?  I  never  thought  they 
would  have  dared — ^ — " 

And  Don  Victoriano,  animated  and  excited,  fol- 
lowed Clodio,  who  went  shouting  through  the  parlor : 

'Trimo !     Primo!" 

A  little  later  Segundo  saw  the  two  brothers  and 
the  ex-Minister  going  through  the  garden  disputing 
and  gesticulating  violently.  Clodio  was  making 
charges  against  Primo,  who  tried  to  defend  himself, 
while  Don  Victoriano  acted  as  peacemaker.  In  his 
fury  Clodio  shook  his  clenched  fist  in  Primo's  face, 
almost  laying  violent  hands  upon  him,  while  the  cul- 
prit stammered,  crossing  himself  hastily : 

"Mercy,  mercy,  mercy!     Ave  Maria!" 

The  poet  watched  them  as  they  passed  by,  remark- 
ing the  transformation  that  had  taken  place  in  Don 
Victoriano.  As  he  turned  away  from  the  window 
he  saw  Nieves   standing  before   him. 

"And  those  gentlemen,"  she  said  to  him  gra- 
ciously, "have  they  left  you  all  alone?  The  pines 
must  at  this  time  be  singing.  There  is  a  breeze  stir- 
ring." 


132  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"Undoubtedly  they  will  be  singing  now/'  returned 
the  poet.  "I  shall  hear  them  as  I  ride  back  to  Vila- 
morta." 

Nieves'  movement  of  surprise  did  not  pass  un- 
noticed by  Segundo,  who,  looking  her  steadily  in  the 
face,  added  coldly  and  proudly:  "Unless  you  should 
command  me  to  remain." 

Nieves  was  silent.  She  felt  that  courtesy  required 
that  she  should  make  some  effort  to  detain  her*^ 
guest,  while  at  the  same  time  to  ask  him  to  remain, 
they  two  being  alone,  seemed  to  her  inexpedient 
and  liable  to  misconstruction.  At  last  she  took  a 
middle  course,  saying  with  a  forced  smile: 

"But  why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry?  And  will  you 
make  us  another  visit?" 

"We  shall  see  each  other  later  in  Vilamorta. 
Good-by,  Nieves,  I  will  not  disturb  Don  Victori- 
ano.  Say  good-by  to  him  fcr  me  and  tell  him  he 
may  count  upon  my  father's  services  and  upon 
mine." 

Without  taking  Nieves'  outstretched  hand  or  look- 
ing at  her  he  descended  into  the  courtyard.  He 
was  settling  his  feet  in  the  stirrups  when  he  saw  a 
little  figure  appear  close  beside  him.  It  was  Vic- 
torina,  with  her  hands  full  of  lumps  of  sugar,  which 
she  offered    the   nag.     The  animal   eagerly  pushed 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA,  133 

out  its  under  lip,  which  moved  with  the  intelligent 
undulations  of  an  elephant's  trunk. 

Segundo  interposed : 

"Child,  he  will  bite  you;  he  bites." 

Then  he  added  gayly : 

**Do  you  want  me  to  lift  you  up  here?  You 
don't?     I  wager  I  can  lift  you!" 

He  lifted  her  up  and  seated  her  on  the  saddle- 
cloth, before  him.  She  struggled  to  free  herself  and 
in  her  struggles  her  beautiful  hair  fell  over  the  face 
and  shoulders  of  Segundo,  who  was  holding  her 
tightly  around  the  waist.  He  observed  with  some 
surprise  that  the  girl's  heart  was  beating  tumultu- 
ously.     Turning  very  pale  Victorina  cried: 

"Mamma,  mamma!" 

At  last  she  succeeded  in  releasing  herself  and  ran 
toward  Nieves,  who  was  laughing  merrily  at  the  in- 
cident. Half-way  she  stopped,  retraced  her  steps, 
threw  her  arms  around  the  horse's  neck  and  pressed 
on  his  nose  a  warm  kiss. 


XI. 

Eight  or  ten  days  intervened  between  Segundo's 
visit  to  Las  Vides  and  the  return  of  Don  Victoriano 
and  his  family  to  Vilamorta.  Don  Victoriano  de- 
sired to  drink  the  waters  and  at  the  same  time  to 
take  measures  to  frustrate  the  dark  machinations  of 
Romero's  partisans.  His  plan  was  a  simple  one — to 
offer  Romero  some  other  district,  where  he  would 
not  have  to  spend  a  penny,  and  thus  removing  the 
only  rival  who  had  any  prestige  in  the  country  he 
would  avoid  the  mortification  of  a  defeat  through 
Vilamorta.  It  was  important  to  do  this  before  Octo- 
ber, the  period  at  which  the  electoral  contest  was  to 
take  place.  And  while  Genday,  Garcia,  the  Alcalde 
and  the  other  Combistas  managed  the  negotiation, 
Don  Victoriano,  installed  in  Agonde's  house,  drank 
two  or  three  glasses  of  the  salubrious  waters  every 
morning,  after  which  he  read  his  correspondence,  and 
in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sultry  heat  invited  to  a 
siesta,  he  read  or  wrote  in  the  cool  parlor  of  the 
apothecary. 

Segundo  frequently    accompanied    him    in    these 

134 


THE    SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA-.  135 

hours  of  retirement.  They  talked  together  like  two 
friends,  and  the  statesman,  far  from  insisting  on  the 
ideas  he  had  expressed  in  Las  Vides,  encouraged  the 
poet,  offering  him  to  endeavor  to  obtain  a  position 
for  him  in  Madrid  which  should  enable  him  to  carry 
out  his  plans. 

**A  position  that  will  not  take  up  much  of  your 
time,  nor  require  much  mental  labor — I  will  see,  I 
will  see.     I  will  be  on  the  lookout  for  something." 

Segundo  observed  unmistakable  signs  of  improved 
health  in  the  wrinkled  face  of  the  Minister.  Don 
Victoriano  was  experiencing  the  transitory  benefit 
which  mineral  waters  produce  at  first,  stimulating 
the  organism  only  to  waste  it  all  the  more  rapidly, 
perhaps,  afterward.  Both  digestion  and  circulation 
had  become  more  active,  and  perspiration,  even, 
entirely  suppressed  by  the  disease,  had  become  re- 
established, dilating  the  pores  with  grateful  warmth 
and  comimunicating  to  the  dry  fibers  the  elasticity 
of  healthy  flesh.  As  a  candle  flares  up  brightly  be- 
fore going  out,  so  Don  Victoriano  seemed  to  be 
recovering  strength  when  in  reality  he  was  wasting 
away.  Fancying  health  was  returning  to  him,  he 
breathed  with  delight  the  narrow  atmosphere  of 
party  intrigues,  taking  pleasure  in  disputing  his  dis- 
trict inch  bv  inch,  in  winning;  over  adherents  and  re- 


136  THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

ceiving  demonstrations  of  sympathy,  and  secretly 
flattered  by  the  absurd  proposal  made  by  his  parish- 
ioners to  the  parish  priest  of  Vilamorta,  that  incense 
should  be  burned  before  him.  In  the  evening  he 
amused  himself  patriarchally  among  Agonde's  visi- 
tors, listening  to  the  comical  stories  told  of  the 
clique  at  Doiia  Eufrasia's  shop  and  enjoying  the  rip- 
ple of  excitement  occasioned  by  the  proximity  of 
the  feasts.  Little  by  little  the  innocent  tresillo 
table  of  Agonde  had  become  transformed  into  some- 
thing much  more  wicked.  Now,  instead  of  four 
persons  being  seated  at  it,  there  was  only  one, 
around  whom,  their  eyes  fixed  on  his  hands,  the 
others  stood  grouped.  The  banker's  left  hand 
grasped  the  cards  tightly  while  with  the  ball  of  his 
thumb  he  pushed  up  the  last  card  until  first  the  spot 
could  be  descried,  then  the  number,  then  the  knob  of 
a  club,  the  point  of  a  diamond,  the  blue  tail  of  a 
horse,  the  turreted  crown  of  a  king,  and  other  hands 
took  up  stakes  or  took  money  from  the  pocket  and 
laid  it  down  on  the  fateful  pieces  of  cardboard  with 
the  words : 

"On  the  seven!  On  the  four!  The  ace  is  in 
sight !" 

Through  respect  for  Don  Victoriano,  Agonde  re- 
frained from  dealing  the  cards  when  the  latter  was 


THE   SWAN   OF  VILAMORTA.^  137 

present,  bridling  with  difficulty  the  only  passion  that 
could  warm  his  blood  and  excite  his  placid  nature, 
giving  up  his  place  to  Jacinto  Ruedas,  a  famous 
strolling  gambler,  known  everywhere,  who  followed 
the  scent  of  the  gaming-table  as  others  follow  the 
scent  of  a  banquet,  a  rare  type,  something  between 
a  swindler  and  a  spy,  who  made  low  jests  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  The  chroniclers  do  not  state  whether  the 
civil  authorities,  that  is  to  say,  the  judge  of  Vila- 
morta,  made  any  attempt  to  interfere  with  the  un- 
lawful diversion  in  which  the  visitors  to  the  phar- 
macy indulged,  but  it  is  an  ascertained  fact  that,  the 
judge  having  one  leg  shorter  than  the  other,  tlic 
pounding  of  his  crutch  on  the  sidewalk  gave  timely 
warning  of  his  approach  to  the  players.  And  as  for 
the  municipal  authority,  it  is  known  to  a  certainty 
that  one  day,  or  to  speak  with  more  exactness,  one 
night,  he  entered  the  apothecary's  back  shop  like 
a  bomb,  holding  in  his  hand  money  which  he  threw 
on  a  card,  crying: 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  queen!" 

"Be  an  ass,  if  you  like !"  responded  Agonde,  push- 
ing him  away  with  marked  disrespect. 

This  year  Don  Victoriano's  presence  and  the  open 
hostilities  waged  between  his  partisans  and  those  of 
Romero  gave  a  martial  character  to  the  feasts.     The 


13^  THE  SWAN  OF  VlLAMOkTA. 

Combists  desired  to  render  them  more  splendid  and 
brilliant  than  ever  before  and  the  Romerists  to  ren- 
der them  a  failure,  as  far  as  it  was  possible.  In  the 
main  room  of  the  townhall  the  monster  balloon, 
which  occupied  the  whole  length  of  the  apartment, 
was  being  repaired ;  its  white  sides  were  being  cov- 
ered with  inscriptions,  figures,  emblems,  and  symbols, 
and  around  the  floor  were  scattered  tin  kettles  filled 
with  paste,  pots  of  vermilion.  Sienna,  and  ochre, 
balls  of  packthread  and  cut  paper  figures.  From 
the  giant  balloon  sprung  daily  broods  of  smaller  bal- 
loons, miniature  balloons,  made  with  remnants  and 
fancifully  decorated  in  pink  and  blue.  At  the  meet- 
ings at  Dona  Eufrasia's  they  spoke  contemptuously 
of  these  preparations  and  commented  on  the  au- 
dacity of  the  inn-keeper's  son,  a  mere  dauber,  who 
undertook  to  paint  Don  Victoriano's  likeness  on  one 
of  the  divisions  of  the  large  balloon.  The  Romerist 
young  ladies,  compressing  their  lips  and  shrugging 
their  shoulders,  declared  that  they  would  attend 
neither  the  fire-works  nor  the  ball,  not  if  their  adver- 
saries were  to  offer  novenas  with  that  purpose  to 
every  saint  in  heaven. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  young  ladies  of  the  Com- 
bist  party  formed  a  sort  of  court  around  Nieves. 
Ever}'-  afternoon  they  called  for  her  to  take  her  out 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  139 

walking;  chief  among  these  were  Carmen  Agonde, 
Florentina,  the  daughter  of  the  Alcalde,  Rosa,  a 
niece  of  Tropiezo,  and  Clara,  the  eldest  of  Gareia's 
daughters.  This  latter  was  running  about  bare- 
footed, spending  her  time  gathering  blackberries  in 
her  apron,  when  she  received  the  astounding  news 
that  her  father  had  ordered  a  gown  for  her  from 
Orense,  that  she  might  visit  the  Minister's  lady. 
And  the  gown  came  with  its  fresh  bows  and  its  stiff 
linings  and  the  girl,  her  face  and  hands  washed,  her 
hair  combed,  her  feet  covered  with  new  kid  boots, 
her  eyes  cast  down  and  her  hands  crossed  stiffly  be- 
fore her,  went  to  swell  Nieves'  train.  Victorina 
took  Clara. Garcia  under  her  especial  protection,  ar- 
ranged her  dress  and  hair  and  made  her  a  present  of 
a  bracelet,  and  they  became  inseparable  companions. 

They  generally  walked  on  the  highroad,  but  as 
soon  as  Clara  grew  more  intimate  with  Victorina  she 
protested  against  this,  declaring  that  the  paths  and 
the  by-ways  were  much  more  amusing  and  that 
much  prettier  things  were  to  be  met  with  in  them. 
And  she  pressed  Victorina's  arm  saying: 

"Segundo  knows  lovely  walks!" 

As  chance  would  have  it,  that  same  afternoon,  re- 
turning to  the  town,  they  caught  sight  of  a  man 
stealing   along   in    the    shadow  of   the    houses,  and 


I40  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA, 


♦ 


Clara,  who  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  ran  over 
to  him,  and  threw  her  arm  around  his  waist,  crying : 

"Hey,  Segundp;  you  can't  escape  from  us  now, 
we  have  caught  you." 

The  poet  gave  a  brotherly  push  to  Clara,  and  cere- 
moniously saluting  Nieves,  who  returned  his  saluta- 
tion with  extreme  cordiality,  he  said  to  her: 

"The  idea  of  this  girl — I  am  sure  she  has  been 
making  herself  troublesome  to  you.  You  must  ex- 
cuse her." 

They  sat  down  on  one  of  the  benches  of  the 
Plaza,  to  enjoy  the  fresh  air,  and  when,  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  the  party  walked  out  after  the  siesta,  Sc- 
gundo  joined  them,  studiously  avoiding  Nieves  as  if 
some  secret  understanding,  some  mysterious  com- 
plicity existed  between  them.  He  mingled  among 
the  girls  and,  laying  aside  his  habitual  reserve,  he 
laughed  and  jested  with  Victorina,  for  whom  he 
gathered,  as  they  walked  along  the  hedges,  ripe 
blackberries,  acorns,  early  chestnut  burrs,  and  in- 
numerable wild  flowers,  which  the  girl  put  into  a 
little  Russian  leather  satchel. 

Sometimes  Segundo  led  them  along  precipitous 
paths  cut  in  the  living  rock,  bordered  by  walls,  sup- 
porting grapevines  through  which  the  expiring  rays 
of   the    sun    could    scarcely   penetrate.      Again    he 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  141 

would  take  them  through  bare  and  arid  woods  until 
they  reached  some  old  oak  grove,  some  chestnut 
tree,  inside  whose  trunk,  decayed  and  split  with  age, 
Segundo  would  hide  himself  while  the  girls  hand  in 
hand  danced  around  it. 

One  day  he  took  them  to  the  stone  bridge  that 
crossed  the  Avieiro,  under  whose  arches  the  black 
water,  cold  and  motionless,  seems  to  be  dreaming  a 
sinister  dream.  And  he  told  them  how  in  this  spot, 
where,  owing  to  the  water  being  deeper  there  and 
less  exposed  to  the  sun's  rays,  the  largest  trout  gath- 
ered, a  corpse  had  been  found  floating  last  month 
near  the  arch.  He  took  them  to  hear  the  echo  also, 
and  all  the  girls  were  wild  with  delight,  talking  all 
together,  without  waiting  for  the  wall  to  repeat  their 
cries  and  shouts  of  laughter.  On  another  afternoon 
he  showed  them  a  curious  lake  regarding  which 
innumerable  fables  were  told  in  the  country — that 
it  had  no  bottom,  that  it  reached  to  the  center  of 
the  earth,  that  submerged  cities  could  be  seen  under 
its  surface,  that  strange  woods  floated  and  unknown 
flowers  grew  in  its  waters.  The  so-called  lake  was 
in  reality  a  large  excavation,  probably  a  Roman 
mine  that  had  been  flooded  with  water,  which,  im- 
prisoned within  the  chain  of  hillocks  of  argillaceous 
tophus  heaped  up  around  it  by  the  miners'  shovels, 


142  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

presented  a  sepulchral  and  fantastic  aspect,  the 
weird  effect  of  tlie  scene  being  heightened  by  the 
somber  character  of  the  marsh  v^egetation  which 
covered  the  surface  of  the  immense  pool.  When  it 
began  to  grow  dark  the  children  declared  that  this 
lugubrious  scene  made  them  horribly  afraid ;  the 
girls  confessed  to  the  same  feeling,  and  started  for 
the  highroad  running  at  the  top  of  their  speed,  leav- 
ing Segundo  and  Nieves  behind.  This  was  the  first 
time  they  had  found  themselves  alone  together,  for 
the  poet  avoided  such  occasions.  Nieves  looked 
around  uneasily  and  then,  meeting  Segundo's  eyes 
fixed,  ardent  and  questioning  upon  hers,  lowered 
her  gaze.  Then  the  gloom  of  the  landscape  and  the 
solemnity  of  the  hour  gave  her  a  contraction  of  the 
heart,  and  without  knowing  what  she  was  doing  she 
began  to  run  as  the  girls  had  done.  She  heard  Se- 
gundo's footsteps  behind  her,  and  when  she  at  last 
stopped,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  highroad,  she 
saw  him  smile  and  could  not  help  smiling  herself  at 
her  own  folly. 

*'Heavens !  What  a  silly  fright !"  she  cried,  'T  have 
made  myself  ridiculous.  I  am  as  bad  as  the  chil- 
dren!  But  that  blessed  pool  is  enough  to  make  one 
afraid.  Tell  me,  how  is  it  that  they  have  not  taken 
views  of    it?     It  is  very  curious  and   picturesque," 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.^  143 

They  returned  by  the  highroad;  it  was  now  quite 
dark  and  Nieves,  as  if  wishing  to  efface  the  impres- 
sion made  by  her  childish  terror,  showed  herself 
ga)^  and  friendly  with  Segundo ;  two  or  three  times 
her  eyes  encountered  his  and,  doubtless  through 
absent-mindedness,  she  did  not  turn  them  aside. 
They  spoke  of  the  walk  of  the  following  day ;  it 
must  be  along  the  banks  of  the  river,  which  was  more 
cheerful  than  the  pond ;  the  scenery  there  was  beau- 
tiful, not  gloomy  like  that  of  the  pool. 

In  effect  the  road  they  followed  on  the  next  day 
was  beautiful,  although  it  was  obstructed  by  the 
osier  plantations  and  canebrakes  and  the  intricate 
growth  of  the  birches  and  the  young  poplars,  which 
at  times  impeded  their  progress.  Every  now  and 
then  Segundo  had  to  give  his  hand  to  Nieves  and 
put  aside  the  flexible  young  branches  that  struck 
against  her  face.  Notwithstanding  all  his  care,  he 
was  unable  to  save  her  from  wetting  her  feet  and 
leaving  some  fragments  of  the  lace  of  her  hat  among 
the  branches  of  a  poplar.  They  stopped  at  a  spot 
where  the  river,  dividing,  formed  a  sort  of  islet  cov- 
ered with  cats-tails  and  gladioli.  A  rivulet  running 
down  the  mountain-side  mingled  its  waters  silently 
and  meekly  with  the  waters  of  Avieiro.  At  the 
river's  edge  grew  plants  with  dentated  leaves  and  a 


144  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

variety  of  ferns  and  graceful  aquatic  plants.  Se- 
gundo  knelt  down  on  the  wet  ground  and  began  to 
gather  some  flowers. 

"Take  them,  Nieves,"  he  said. 

She  approached  and,  kneeling  on  one  knee,  he 
handed  her  a  bunch  of  flowers  of  a  pale  turquoise 
blue,  with  slender  stems,  flowers  of  which  she  had 
hitherto  seen  only  imitations,  as  adornments  for 
hats,  and  that  she  had  fancied  had  only  a  mythical 
existence ;  flowers  of  romance,  that  she  had  thought 
grew  only  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  which  is  the 
home  of  everything  romantic ;  flowers  that  have  so 
beautiful  a  name — Forget-me-not, 


XII. 

NiEVES  was  what  is  called  an  exemplary  wife, 
without  a  dark  page  in  her  history,  without  a  thought 
of  disloyalty  to  her  husband,  a  coquette  only  in  her 
dress  and  in  the  adornment  of  her  person,  and  even 
in  these  practicing  no  alluring  arts,  content  to  obey 
slavishly  the  dictates  of  fashion. 

Her  ideal,  if  she  had  any,  was  to  lead  a  comfort- 
able, elegant  existence,  enjoying  the  consideration 
of  the  world.  She  had  married  when  she  was  very 
young,  Don  Victoriano  settling  on  her  some  thou- 
sands of  dollars,  and  on  the  wedding-day  her  father 
had  called  her  into  his  magisterial  office  and,  keep- 
ing her  standing  before  him  as  if  she  were  a  criminal, 
had  charged  her  to  respect  and  obey  the  husband 
she  had  chosen.     She  obeyed  and  respected  him. 

And  her  obedience  and  respect  were  a  torture  to 
Don  Victoriano,  who  sought  in  marriage  a  compen- 
sation for  the  long  years  he  had  spent  in  his  law 
office ;  years  of  loneliness  during  which  his  arduous 
labors  and  confinement  to  business  had  prevented 
him  from  forming  any  tender  tie  or  cultivating  gentle 

M5 


146  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

affections,  permitting  him  at  the  most  some  hasty 
pleasure,  some  reckless  and  exciting  adventure, 
which  did  not  satisfy  his  heart.  He  fancied  that  the 
beautiful  daughter  of  the  President  of  the  Court 
would  requite  him  for  all  the  tender  joys  he  had 
missed  and  he  found  with  vain  and  bitter  disappoint- 
ment that  Nieves  saw  in  him  only  the  grave  hus- 
band who  is  accepted  with  docility,  without  repug- 
nance, nothing  more.  Respecting  against  his  will 
the  peace  of  this  superficial  being,  he  neither  could 
nor  dared  disturb  it,  and  he  fretted  his  soul  with 
unavailing  longings,  hastening  to  the  crisis  of  matu- 
rity and  multiplying  the  white  patches  that  streaked 
his  black  hair. 

When  the  child  was  born  Don  Victoriano  hoped 
to  repay  himself  with  interest  in  new  and  holy 
caresses,  to  take  solace  in  a  pure  oasis  of  affection. 
But  the  requirements  of  his  position,  the  hurry  of 
business,  the  complex  obligations  and  the  implacable 
cares  of  his  existence,  interposed  themselves  between 
him  and  a  father's  joys.  He  saw  his  daughter  only 
from  a  distance,  barely  succeeding,  when  the  coffee 
was  brought  in,  in  having  her  for  awhile  on  his 
knee.  And  then  came  the  first  warnings  of  his 
disease. 

From  the  time  in  whicli  his  maladv  declared  itself 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  I47 

with  all  its  afflicting  symptoms,  Nieves  had  still  less 
of  her  husband's  society  than  before;  it  seemed  to 
her  as  if  she  had  returned  to  the  rosy  days  of  her 
girlhood,  when  she  flitted  about  like  a  butterfly  and 
played  at  lovers  with  her  companions,  who  wrote 
her  fictitious  love-letters  of  an  innocent  nature,  which 
they  put  under  her  pillow. 

She  never  had  had  much  amusement  since  that 
time.  A  great  deal  of  amusement  was  to  be  found 
in  the  routine  of  a  methodical  Madrid  life!  Yes, 
there  was  a  period  during  which  the  Marquis  de 
Cameros,  a  rich  young  client  of  Don  Victoriano's, 
had  come  to  the  house  with  some  frequency,  and  he 
had  even  been  asked  to  dine  with  them  three  or  four 
times,  without  ceremony.  Nieves  remembered  that 
the  Marquis  had  cast  many  furtive  glances  at  her, 
and  that  they  had  always  met  him,  by  chance,  at 
whatever  theater  they  went  to.  It  did  not  go  be- 
yond this. 

Nieves  was  now  in  the  bloom  of  her  second  youth 
— between  twenty-nine  and  thirty — terrible  epoch  in 
a  woman's  life ;  and  if  it  brought  her  no  red  passion 
flowers,  at  least  she  wished  to  adorn  herself  with  the 
romantic  forget-me-nots  of  the  poet.  It  seemed  to 
Nieves  that  in  the  porcelain  vase  of  her  existence  a 
flower  had  been  wanting,  and  the  fragile  blue  spray 


14^  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

came  to  complete  the  beauty  of  the  drawing-room 
toy.  Bah!  What  harm  was  there  in  all  this?  It 
was  a  childish  adventure.  Those  flowers,  preserved 
between  the  leaves  of  a  costly  prayer-book,  inspired 
her  only  with  thoughts  as  pallid  and  sapless  as  the 
poor  petals  now  pressed  and  dry. 

She  had  fastened  the  blue  spray  in  her  bosom. 
How  well  it  looked  among  the  folds  of  the  ecru  lace ! 

"Tell  me,  mamma,"  Victorina  had  said  to  her  that 
night  before  going  to  bed,  "did  Segundo  give  you 
those  pretty  flowers?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  remember — yes,  I  think  that  Garcia 
picked  them  for  me." 

"Will  you  give  them  to  me  to  keep  in  my  little 
satchel?" 

"Go,  child,  go  to  bed  quickly.  Mademoiselle,  see 
that  she  says  her  prayers !" 


XIII. 

The  proximity  of  the  feasts  put  an  end  to  long 
walks.  The  promenaders  confined  themselves  to 
walks  on  the  highroad,  returning  soon  to  the  town, 
where  the  plaza  was  crowded  with  busy  people. 
The  promenaders  included  the  young  ladies  of  the 
Combist  party,  gayly  attired,  parish  priests,  ill- 
shaven,  of  sickly  aspect  and  dejected  looking,  gam- 
blers of  doubtful  appearance  and  strangers  from  the 
Border — all  types  which  Agonde  criticised  with  mor- 
dacity, to  Nieves*  great  amusement. 

"Do  you  see  those  women  there?  They  are  the 
Senoritas  de  Gondas,  three  old  maids  and  a  young 
lady,  whom  they  call  their  niece,  but  as  they  have 

no  brother Those  other  two  are  the  Molendes, 

from  Cebre,  very  aristocratic  people,  God  save  the 
mark !  The  fat  one  thinks  herself  superior  to  Luci- 
fer, and  the  other  writes  poetry,  and  what  poetry! 
I  tell  Segundo  Garcia  that  he  ought  to  propose  to 
her;  they  would  make  an  excellent  pair.  They  are 
staying  at  Lamajosa's;  there  they  are  in  their  ele- 
ment, for  Doiia  Mercedes  Lamajosa,  when  any  vis- 

149 


ISO  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

itor  comes,  in  order  that  it  may  be  known  that  they 
are  noble,  says  to  her  daughters:  'Girls,  let  one  of 
you  bring  me  my  knitting ;  it  must  be  in  the  press, 
where  the  letters-patent  of  nobility  are.'  Those  two 
handsome,  well-dressed  girls  are  the  Caminos,  daugh- 
ters of  the  judge." 

On  the  ev^e  of  the  fair  the  musicians  paraded  the 
streets  morning  and  afternoon,  deafening  everybody 
with  the  noise  of  their  triumphal  strains.  The 
plaza  in  front  of  the  townhall  was  dotted  with 
booths,  which  made  a  gay  confusion  of  brilliant 
and  discordant  colors.  Before  the  townhall  were 
erected  some  odd-looking  objects  which  with  equal 
probability  might  be  taken  for  instruments  of  torture, 
children's  to\\s,  or  scarecrows,  but  which  were  in  real- 
ity fireworks — trees  and  wheels  which  were  to  burn 
that  night,  with  magnificent  pomp,  favored  by  the 
stillness  of  the  atmosphere.  From  the  window  of 
the  building  issued,  like  a  Titanic  arm,  the  pole  on 
which  was  to  be  hoisted  the  gigantic  balloon,  and 
along  the  balustrade  ran  a  series  of  colored  glasses, 
forming  the  letters  V.  A.  D.  L.  C. — a  delicate  com- 
pliment to  the  representative  of  the  district. 

It  was  already  dark  when  Don  Victoriano,  accom- 
panied by  his  wife  and  daughter,  set  out  for  the 
townhall  to  see  the  fireworks.     It  was  with  difficulty 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  .  I^l 

they  made  their  way  through  the  crowd  which  filled 
the  plaza,  where  a  thousand  discordant  noises  filled 
the  air — now  the  timbrel  and  castanets  in  some 
dance,  now  the  buzz  of  the  zanfona,  now  some  slow 
and  melancholy  popular  copla,  now  the  shout  of  some 
aggressive  and  quarrelsome  drunkard.  Agonde  gave 
his  arm  to  Nieves,  made  way  for  her  among  the 
crowd,  and  explained  to  her  the  programme  of  the 
night's  entertainment. 

"Never  was  there  seen  a  balloon  like  this  year's," 
he  said";  "it  is  the  largest  we  have  ever  had  here. 
The  Romerists  are  furious." 

"And  how  has  my  likeness  turned  out?"  asked 
Don  Victoriano  with  interest. 

"Oh!  It  is  superb.  Better  than  the  likeness  in 
La  Illustracion.'' 

At  the  door  of  the  townhall  the  difficulties  in- 
creased, and  it  was  necessary  to  trample  down  with- 
out mercy  the  country-people — who  had  installed 
themselves  there,  determined  not  to  budge  an  inch 
lest  they  should  lose  their  places — before  they  were 
able  to  pass  in. 

"See  what  asses  they  are,"  said  Agonde.  "It 
makes  no  difference  whether  you  step  over  them 
or  not,  they  won't  rise.  They  have  no  place  to 
sleep    and    they    intend    to    pass   the    night     here ; 


152  THE  SWAN  OF  VILA  MO  RT A. 

to-morrow  they  will  waken  up  and  return  to  their 
villages." 

They  made  their  way  as  best  they  could  over  this 
motley  heap  in  which  men  and  women  were  crowded 
together,  intertwined,  entangled  in  repulsive  promis- 
cuity. Even  on  the  steps  of  the  stairs  suspicious- 
looking  groups  were  lying,  or  some  drunken  peasant 
snored,  surfeited  with  piilpo,  or  some  old  woman  sat 
counting  her  coppers  in  her  lap.  They  entered  the 
hall,  which  was  illuminated  only  by  the  dim  light 
shed  by  the  colored  glasses.  Some  young  ladies 
already  occupied  the  space  in  front  of  the  windows, 
but  the  Alcalde,  hat  in  hand,  with  innumerable  apolo- 
gies, made  them  draw  their  chairs  closer  together 
to  make  room  for  Nieves,  Victorina,  and  Carmen 
Agonde,  around  whom  an  obsequious  circle  gathered  ; 
chairs  were  brought  for  the  ladies,  and  the  Alcalde 
took  Don  Victoriano  to  the  Secretary's  ofiBce,  where 
a  tray,  with  some  bottles  of  Tostado  and  some  atro- 
cious cigars,  awaited  him.  The  young  ladies  and  the 
children  placed  themselves  in  front,  leaning  on  the 
railing  of  the  balcony,  running  the  risk  of  having 
some  rocket  fall  upon  them.  Nieves  remained  a 
little  behind,  and  drew  her  silver-woven  Algerian 
shawl  closer  around  her,  for  in  this  empty,  gloomy 
hall  the  air  was  chill.     At  her  side  was  an   empty 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.     •  153 

chair,  which  was  suddenly  occupied  by  a  figure 
whose  outhnes  were  dimly  distinguishable  in  the 
darkness. 

"Why,  Garcia,"  she  cried,  "it  is  a  cure  for  sore 
eyes.     We  haven't  seen  you  for  two  days." 

"You  don't  see  me  now,  either,  Nieves,"  said  the 
poet,  leaning  toward  her  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice. 
"It  would  be  rather  difficult  to  see  one  here." 

"That  is  true,"  answered  Nieves,  confused  by  this 
simple  remark.  "Why  have  they  not  brought 
lights?" 

"Because  it  would  spoil  the  effect  of  the  fireworks. 
Don't  you  prefer  this  species  of  semi-obscurity?"  he 
added,  smiling,  before  he  uttered  it,  at  the  choice 
phrase. 

Nieves  was  silent.  Unconsciously  she  was  fasci- 
nated by  the  situation,  in  which  there  was  a  delicate 
blending  of  danger  and  security  which  w^s  not  with- 
out a  tinge  of  romance ;  she  felt  a  sense  of  security 
in  the  proximity  of  the  open  window,  the  young 
girls  crowded  around  it,  the  plaza,  where  the  multi- 
tude swarmed  like  ants,  and  whence  came  noises  like 
the  roaring  of  the  sea,  and  songs  and  confused  cries 
full  of  tender  melancholy;  but  at  the  same  time  the 
solitude  and  the  darkness  of  the  hall  and  the  species 
of  isolation  in  which  she  found  herself  with  the  Swan 


154  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

afforded  one  of  those  chance  occasions  which  tempt 
women  of  weak  principles,  who  are  neither  so  impru- 
dent as  to  throw  themselves  headlong  into  danger, 
nor  so  cautious  as  to  fly  from  its  shadow. 

Nieves  remained  silent,  feeling  Segundo's  breath 
fanning  her  cheek.  Suddenly  both  started.  The 
first  rocket  was  streaking  the  sky  with  a  long  trail 
of  light,  and  the  noise  of  the  explosion,  deadened 
though  it  was  by  distance,  drew  a  cheer  from  the 
crowd  in  the  plaza.  After  this  adv^anced  guard 
came,  one  after  another,  at  regular  intervals,  with 
measured,  hollow,  deafening  sound,  eight  bombs,  the 
signal  announced  in  the  programme  of  the  feasts  for 
the  beginning  of  the  display.  The  window  shook 
with  the  report  and  Nieves  did  not  venture  to  raise 
her  eyes  to  the  sky,  fearing,  doubtless,  to  see  it  com- 
ing down  with  the  reverberation  of  the  bombs. 
After  this  .the  noise  of  the  flying  fireworks,  chasing 
one  another  through  the  solitudes  of  space,  seemed 
to  her  soft  and  pleasant. 

The  first  of  these  were  ordinary  rockets,  without 
any  novelty  whatever — a  trail  of  light,  a  dull  report, 
and  a  shower  of  sparks.  But  soon  came  the  sur- 
prises, novelties,  and  marvels  of  art.  There  were 
fireworks  that  exploded,  separating  into  three  or  four 
cascades  of  light  that  vanished  with  fantastic  swift- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMCRTA.      .  155 

ness  in  the  depths  of  space ;  from  others  fell  with 
mysterioLPS  slowness  and  noiselessness  violet,  green, 
and  red  lights,  as  if  the  angels  had  overturned  in  the 
skies  a  casket  of  amethysts,  emeralds,  and  rubies. 
The  lights  descended  slowly,  like  tears,  and  before 
they  reached  the  ground  suddenly  went  out.  The 
prettiest  were  the  rockets  which  sent  down  a  rain  of 
gold,  a  fantastic  shower  of  sparks,  a  stream  of  drops 
of  light  as  quickly  lighted  as  extinguished.  The 
delight  of  the  crowd  in  the  plaza,  however,  was 
greatest  at  the  fireworks  of  three  explosions  and  a 
snake.  These  were  not  without  beauty ;  they  ex- 
ploded like  simple  rockets,  sending  forth  a  fiery 
lizard,  a  reptile  which  ran  through  the  sky  in  serpen- 
tine curves,  and  then  plunged  suddenly  into  dark- 
ness. 

The  scene  was  now  wrapped  in  darkness,  now 
flooded  with  light,  when  the  plaza  would  seem  to 
rise  to  a  level  with  the  window,  with  its  swarm  of 
people,  the  patches  of  color  of  the  booths  and  the 
hundreds  of  human  faces  turned  upward,  beaming 
with  delight  at  this  favorite  spectacle  of  the  Galicians, 
a  race  which  has  preserved  the  Celtic  love  and  admira- 
tion for  pyrotechnic  displays,  for  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated nights  in  which  the}-"  find  a  compensation  for 
the  cloudy  horizon  of  the  day. 


156  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMOKTA. 

Nieves,  too,  was  pleased  by  the  sudden  alterna- 
tions of  light  and  darkness,  a  faithful  ima^e  of  the 
ambiguous  condition  of  her  soul.  When  the  firma- 
ment was  lighted  up  she  watched  with  admiration 
the  bright  luminaries  that  gave  a  Venetian  coloring 
to  these  pleasant  moments.  When  everything  was 
again  enveloped  in  darkness  she  ventured  to  look  at 
the  poet,  without  seeing  him,  however,  for  her  eyes, 
dazzled  by  the  fireworks,  were  unable  to  distinguish 
the  outlines  of  his  face.  The  poet,  on  his  side,  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  persistently  on  Nieves,  and  he  saw  her 
flooded  with  light,  with  that  rare  and  beautiful 
moonlight  glow  produced  by  fireworks,  and  which 
adds  a  hundredfold  to  the  softness  and  freshness  of 
the  features.  He  felt  a  keen  impulse  to  condense  in 
one  ardent  phrase  all  that  the  time  had  now  come 
for  saying,  and  he  bent  toward  her — and  at  last  he 
pronounced  her  name ! 

"Nieves !" 

"Well?" 

"Had  you  ever  seen  fireworks  like  these  before?" 

"No;  it  is  a  specialty  of  this  province.  I  like 
them  greatly.  If  I  were  a  poet  like  you  I  would  say 
pretty  things  about  them.  Come,  invent  something, 
you. 

"Like  them  happiness  brightens  our  existence,  for 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  157 

a  few  brief  moments,  Nieves — but  while  it  brightens, 
while  we  feel  it " 

Segundo  inwardly  cursed  the  high-sounding 
phrase  that  he  found  himself  unable  to  finish.  What 
nonsense  he  was  talking!  Would  it  not  be  better 
to  bend  down  a  little  lower  and    touch    with    his 

lips But  what  if  she  should  scream  ?    She  would 

not  scream,  he  would  venture  to  swear.     Courage! 

In  the  balcony  a  great  commotion  was  heard. 
Carmen  Agonde  called  to  Nieves : 

'* Nieves,  come,  come!  The  first  tree — awheel  of 
fire " 

Nieves  rose  hastily  and  went  and  leaned  over  the 
balustrade,  thinking  that  it  would  not  do  to  attract 
attention  sitting  all  the  evening  chatting  with 
Segundo.  The  tree  began  to  burn  at  one  end,  not 
without  difficulty,  apparently,  spitting  forth  an 
occasional  red  spark ;  but  suddenly  the  whole  piece 
took  fire — a  flaming  wheel,  an  enormous  wafer  of  red 
and  green  light,  which  turned  round  and  round,  ex- 
panding and  shaking  out  its  fiery  locks  and  making 
the  air  resound  with  a  noise  like  the  report  of  fire- 
arms. It  was  silent  for  a  few  brief  instants  and 
seemed  on  the  point  of  going  out,  a  cloud  of  rosy 
smoke  enveloped  it,  through  which  shone  a  point  of 
light,  a  golden  sun,  which  soon  began  to  turn  with 


158  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

dizzying  rapidity,  opening  and  spreading  out  into  an 
aureole  of  rays.  These  went  out  one  by  one,  and 
the  sun,  diminishing  in  size  until  it  was  no  larger 
than  a  coal,  lazily  gave  a  few  languid  turns,  and, 
sighing,  expired. 

As  Nieves  was  returning  to  her  seat  she  felt  a  pair 
of  arms  thrown  around  her  neck.  They  were  those 
of  Victorina  who,  intoxicated  with  delight  at  the 
spectacle  of  the  fireworks,  cried  in  her  thin  voice : 

"Mamma,  mamma!  How  lovely  I  How  beauti- 
ful !  And  Carmen  says  they  are  going  to  set  off 
more  trees  and  a  wheel " 

She  stopped,  seeing  Segundo  standing  beside 
Nieves'  chair.  She  hung  her  head,  ashamed  of  her 
childish  enthusiasm,  and,  instead  of  returning  to  the 
window,  she  remained  beside  her  mother,  lavishing 
caresses  upon  her  to  disguise  the  shyness  and  timid- 
ity which  always  took  possession  of  her  when 
Segundo  looked  at  her.  Two  other  pieces  were 
burning  at  two  of  the  corners  of  the  plaza,  a  pin- 
wheel  and  a  vase,  that  sent  forth  showers  of  light, 
first  golden,  then  blue.  The  child,  notwithstanding 
her  admiration  for  the  fireworks,  did  not  appear  to 
have  any  intention  of  going  to  the  window  to  see 
them,  leaving  Nieves  and  Segundo  alone.  The  lat- 
ter remained  seated  for  some  ten  minutes  longer,  but 


THE    SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  159 

seeing  that  the  child  did  not  leave  her  mother's  side, 
he  rose  quickly,  seized  by  a  sudden  frenzy,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  dimly-lighted  hall  with 
hasty  steps,  conscious  that  for  the  moment  he  was 
not  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  maintain  out- 
ward calmness. 

By  Heaven,  he  was  well  employed  I  Why  had 
he  been  fool  enough  to  let  slip  so  favorable  an  op- 
portunity I  Nieves  had  encouraged  him  ;  he  had  not 
dreamed  it ;  no ;  glances,  smiles,  slight  but  signifi- 
cant indications  of  liking  and  good-will ;  all  these 
there  had  been,  and  they  all  counseled  him  to  end  so 
ambiguous  and  doubtful  a  situation.  Ah!  If  this 
woman  only  loved  him  !  And  she  should  love  him, 
and  not  in  jest  and  as  a  pastime,  but  madly !  Se- 
gundo  would  not  be  satisfied  with  less.  His  ambi- 
tious soul  scorned  easy  and  ephemeral  triumphs — 
all  or  nothing.  If  the  Madridlenian  thought  of  flirt- 
ing with  him  she  would  find  herself  mistaken ;  he 
would  seize  her  by  her  butterfly  wings  and,  even  at 
the  cost  of  breaking  them,  he  would  hold  her  fast ; 
if  one  wished  to  retain  a  butterfly  in  his  possession 
he  must  pierce  it  through  the  heart  or  press  it  to 
death.  Segundo  had  done  this  a  thousand  times 
when  he  was  a  boy ;  he  would  do  it  now  again ;  he 
was  resolved  upon  it ;  whenever  a  light  or  mocking 


i6o  THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

laugh,  a  reserved  attitude  or  a  tranquil  look,  showed 
Segundo  that  Senora  de  Comba  maintained  her  self- 
possession,  his  heart  swelled  with  rage  that  threat- 
ened to  suffocate  him ;  and  when  he  saw  the  child 
beside  her  mother,  who  was  keeping  up  an  ani- 
mated conversation  with  the  little  girl,  as  if  she  were 
keeping  her  there  as  a  protection,  he  determined 
that  he  would  not  let  the  night  pass  without  know- 
ing what  were  her  feelings  toward  him. 

He  returned  to  Nieves,  but  she  had  now  risen  and 
the  child  was  drawing  her  by  the  hands  to  the  win- 
dow; this  was  the  solemn  and  critical  moment;  the 
monster  balloon  had  just  been  attached  to  the  pole 
for  the  purpose  of  inflating  it;  and  from  the  plaza 
came  a  loud  buzz,  a  buzz  of  eager  expectation.  A 
phalanx  of  Combist  artisans,  among  w^hom  figured 
Ramon,  the  confectioner,  were  clearing  a  space 
around  it  sufficiently  large  to  allow  of  the  fuse  burn- 
ing freely,  so  that  the  difficult  operation  might  be 
accomplished.  The  silhouettes  of  the  workmen, 
illuminated  by  the  light  of  the  fuse,  could  be  seen 
moving  about,  bending  down,  rising  up,  dancing  a 
sort  of  mad  dance.  The  darkness  was  no  longer 
illuminated  by  the  glare  of  the  rockets,  and  the 
human  sea  looked  black  as  a  lake  of  pitch. 

Still  folded  in  innumerable  folds,  its  sides  clinging 


THE    SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  i6i 

together,  the  balloon  swayed  feebly,  kissing  the 
ground  with  its  lips  of  wire,  between  which  the  ill- 
smelling  fuse  was  beginning  to  burn  brightly.  The 
manufacturers  of  the  colossal  balloon  proceeded  to 
unfold  it  gently  and  affectionately,  lighting  below  it 
other  fuses  to  aid  the  principal  one  and  hasten  the 
rarification  of  air  in  its  paper  body.  This  began  to 
distend  itself,  the  folds  opening  out  with  a  gentle, 
rustling  sound,  and  the  balloon,  losing  its  former 
limp  and  lank  appearance,  began  to  be  inflated  in 
places.  As  yet  the  figures  on  its  sides  appeared  of 
unnatural  length,  like  figures  reflected  from  the  pol- 
ished, convex  surface  of  a  coffee  urn ;  but  already 
several  borders  and  mottoes  began  to  make  their 
appearance  here  and  there,  acquiring  their  natural 
proportions  and  positions  and  showing  clearly  the 
coarse  red  and  blue  daubs. 

The  difficulty  was  that  the  mouth  of  the  balloon 
was  too  large,  allowing  the  rarefied  air  to  escape 
through  it ;  and  if  the  fuses  were  made  to  burn  with 
greater  force  there  was  danger  of  setting  the  paper 
on  fire  and  instantly  reducing  the  superb  machine  to 
ashes — a  terrible  calamity  which  must  be  prevented 
at  all  costs.  Therefore  many  arms  were  eagerly 
stretched  out  to  support  it,  and  when  the  balloon 
leaned  to  one  side  many  hands  made  haste  to  sus- 


1 62  THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

tain    it — all    this   to   the    accompaniment    of   cries, 
oaths,  and  maledictions. 

In  the  plaza  the  surging  crowd  continued  to  in- 
crease, and  the  eager  expectancy  became  momentar- 
ily greater.  Carmen  Agonde,  with  her  mellow  laugh, 
recounted  to  Nieves  the  plots  that  went  on  behind 
the  scenes.  Those  who  were  trying  to  push  their 
way  to  the  front  in  order  to  overturn  the  fuses 
and  prevent  the  ascent  of  the  balloon  belonged  to 
the  Romerist  party ;  a  good  watch  the  maker  of  the 
fireworks  had  been  obliged  to  keep  to  prevent  them 
from  wetting  his  powder  trees;  but  the  greatest 
hatred  was  to  the  balloon,  on  account  of  its  bearing 
Don  Victoriano's  likeness ;  they  had  vowed  and  de- 
termined that  so  ridiculous  and  grotesque  an  object 
should  not  ascend  into  the  air  while  they  had  life  to 
prevent  it ;  and  that  they  themselves  would  con- 
struct another  balloon,  better  than  that  of  the  town- 
hall,  and  that  this  should  be  the  only  one  to  ascend. 
For  this  reason  they  applauded  and  uttered  shouts 
of  derision  every  time  the  gigantic  balloon,  unable 
to  rise  from  the  earth,  fell  down  feebly  to  the  right 
or  to  the  left,  while  Don  Victoriano's  partisans  di- 
rected their  efforts  on  the  one  hand  to  protect  from 
all  injury  the  enormous  bulk  of  the  balloon,  on  the 
other  to  inflate  it  with  warm  air  to  make  it  rise. 


THE    SVVAAr   OF  VILAMORTA.  163 

Nieves'  eyes  were  fixed  attentively  on  the  mon- 
ster, but  her  thoughts  were  far  away.  Segundo  had 
succeeded  in  pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd  in 
front  of  the  window  and  was  now  sitting  beside  her, 
on  her  right.  No  one  was  observing  them  now,  and 
the  poet,  without  preface,  passed  his  arm  around 
.Nieves' waist,  placing  his  hand  boldly  on  the  spot 
where,  anatomically  speaking,  the  heart  is  situated. 
Instead  of  the  elastic  and  yielding  curve  of  the  form 
and  the  quickened  pulsation  of  the  organ,  Segundo 
felt  under  his  hand  the  hard  surface  of  one  of  those 
long  corset-breastplates  full  of  whalebones,  and  fur- 
nished with  steel  springs,  which  fashion  prescribes 
at  the  present  day — an  apparatus  to  which  Nieves* 
form  owed  much  of  its  slender  grace.  Infernal  cor- 
set !  Segundo  could  have  wished  that  his  fingers 
were  pincers  to  pierce  through  the  fabric  of  her 
gown,  through  the  steel  whalebones,  through  her 
inner  garments,  through  the  flesh  and  through  the 
very  ribs  and  fasten  themselves  in  her  heart,  and 
seize  it  red-hot  and  bleeding  and  crush,  tear,  anni- 
hilate it !  Why  could  he  not  feel  the  throbbings  of 
that  heart?  Leocadia's  heart,  or  even  Victorina's, 
bounded  like  a  bird's  when  he  touched  it.  And 
Sggundo,  enraged,  pressed    his    hand    with    greater 


1 64  THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

force,  undeterred  by  the  fear  of  hurting  Nieves,  de- 
siring, on  the  contrary,  to  strangle  her. 

Surprised  at  Segundo's  audacity,  Nieves  remained 
silent,  not  daring  to  make  the  slightest  movement, 
lest  by  doing  so  she  should  attract  attention,  and 
protesting  only  by  straightening  her  form  and  rais- 
ing her  eyes  to  his  with  a  look  of  anguish,  soon  low- 
ering them,  however,  unable  to  resist  the  expression 
in  the  eyes  of  the  poet.  The  latter  continued  to 
search  for  the  absent  heart  without  succeeding  in 
feeling  anything  more  than  the  throbbing  of  his  own 
arteries,  of  his  pulse  compressed  against  the  un- 
yielding surface  of  the  corset.  But  fatigue  finally 
conquered,  his  fingers  relaxed  their  pressure,  his  arm 
fell  down  powerless,  and  rested  without  strength  or 
illusion  on  the  form,  at  once  flexible  and  unyielding, 
the  form  of  whalebone  and  steel. 

Meanwhile  the  balloon,  in  defiance  of  the  Romer- 
ist  intriguers,  continued  to  expand,  as  its  enormous 
body  was  filled  with  gas  and  light,  illuminating  the 
plaza  like  a  gigantic  lantern.  It  swayed  from  side  to 
side  majestically,  and  on  its  immense  surface  could 
be  read  plainly  all  the  inscriptions  and  laudatory 
phrases  invented  by  the  enthusiastic  Combists.  The 
effigy,  or  rather  the  colossal  figure  of  Don  Victori- 


THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  165 

ano,  which  filled  one  of  its  sides  completely,  fol- 
lowed the  curve  of  the  balloon  and  stood  out,  so 
ugly  and  disproportioned  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
see  it ;  it  had  two  frying-pans  for  eyes,  the  pupils 
being  two  eggs  fried  in  them,  no  doubt ;  for  mouth 
a  species  of  fish  or  lizard  and  for  beard  a  tangled 
forest  or  map  of  blots  of  sienna  and  lampblack. 
Giant  branches  of  green  laurel  crossed  each  other 
above  the  head  of  the  colossus,  matching  the  golden 
palms  of  his  court  dress,  represented  by  daubs  of 
ocher.  And  the  balloon  swelled  and  swelled,  its  dis- 
tended sides  grew  ever  tenser  and  tenser,  and  it 
pulled  impatiently  at  the  cord  that  held  it,  eager  to 
break  away  and  soar  among  the  clouds.  The  Com- 
bists  yelled  with  delight.  Suddenly  a  murmur  was 
heard,  a  low  murmur  of  expectation. 

The  cord  had  been  dexterously  cut  and  the  bal- 
loon, majestic,  magnificent,  rose  a  few  yards  above 
the  ground,  bearing  with  it  the  apotheosis  of  Don 
Victoriano,  the  glory  of  his  laurels,  mottoes  and  em- 
blems. In  the  balcony  and  in  the  plaza  below 
resounded  a  salvo  of  applause  and  triumphal  accla- 
mations. Oh,  vanity  of  human  joys!  It  was  not 
one  Romerist  stone  only  but  three  at  least  that  at 
this  instant,  directed  with  unerring  aim,  pierced  the 
.sides  of  the  paper  monster,  allowing  the  hot  air,  the 


1 66  THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

vital  current,  to  escape  through  the  wounds.  The 
balloon  contracted,  shriveled  up  like  a  worm  when 
it  is  trodden  upon,  and  finally,  doubling  over  in  the 
middle,  gave  itself  up  a  prey  to  the  devouring  flames 
lighted  by  the  fuse  which  in  a  second's  space  envel- 
oped it  in  a  fiery  mantle. 

At  the  same  moment  that  the  balloon  of  the 
official  candidate  expired  thus  miserably,  the  little 
Romerist  balloon,  its  swelling  sides  daubed  with 
coarse  designs,  rose  promptly  and  swiftly  from  a 
corner  of  the  plaza,  resolved  not  to  pause  in  its 
ascent  until  it  had  reached  the  clouds. 


XIV. 

NiEVES  spent  a  restless  night  and  when  she  awoke 
In  the  morning  the  incidents  of  the  preceding  even- 
ing presented  themselves  to  her  mind  vaguely  and 
confusedly  as  if  she  had  dreamed  them ;  she  could 
not  believe  in  the  reality  of  Segundo's  singular 
hardihood,  that  taking  possession  of  her,  that  auda- 
cious outrage,  that  she  had  not  known  how  to  re- 
sent. How  compromising  the  position  in  which  the 
daring  of  the  poet  had  placed  her!  And  what  if 
anyone  had  noticed  it?  When  she  bade  good-night 
to  the  girls  who  had  been  sitting  with  her  at  the 
window,  they  had  smiled  in  a  way  that  was — well, 
odd ;  Carmen  Agonde,  the  fat  girl  with  the  sleepy 
eyes  and  placid  temper,  gave  evidence  at  times  of  a 
strain  of  malice.  But,  no ;  how  could  they  have 
observed  anything?  The  shawl  she  had  worn  was 
large  and  had  covered  her  whole  figure.  And 
Nieves  took  the  shawl,  put  it  on  and  looked  at  her- 
self in  the  mirror,  using  a  handglass  to  obtain  a  com- 
plete view  of  her  person,  in  order  to  assure  herself 

that,  enveloped  in  this  garment,  it  was  impossible  for 

167 


1 68  THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA, 

an  arm  passed  around  her  waist  to  be  seen.  She 
was  engaged  in  this  occupation  when  the  door 
opened  and  someone  entered.  She  started  and 
dropped  the  glass. 

It  was  her  husband,  looking  more  sallow  than  ever, 
and  bearing  the  traces  of  suffering  stamped  on  his 
countenance.  Nieves'  heart  seemed  to  turn  within 
her.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Don  Victoriano  sus- 
pected anything?  Her  apprehensions  were  soon  re- 
lieved, however,  when  she  heard  him  speak,  with 
ill-disguised  pique,  of  the  insulting  behavior  of  the 
Romerists  and  the  destruction  of  the  balloon.  The 
Minister  sought  an  outlet  for  his  mortification  by 
complaining  of  the  pain  of  the  pin-prick. 

"But  did  you  ever  see  the  like,  child?  What  do 
you  think  of  it?"  he  said. 

He  then  went  on  to  complain  of  the  noise  of  the 
fair,  which  had  lasted  all  night  and  had  not  allowed 
him  to  close  his  eyes.  Nieves  agreed  that  it  was 
extremely  annoying;  she,  too,  had  been  unable  to 
sleep.  The  Minister  opened  the  window  and  the 
noise  reached  them  louder  and  more  distinct.  It 
resembled  a  grand  chorale,  or  symphony,  composed 
of  human  voices,  the  neighing  of  horses  and  mules, 
the  grunting  of  pigs,  the  lowing  of  cows,  calves,  and 
oxen,  hucksters'  criers,  noises  of  quarreling,  songs. 


THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA,  169 

blasphemies,  and  sounds  of  musical  instruments. 
The  flood-tide  of  the  fair  had  submerged  Vila 
morta. 

From  the  window  could  be  seen  its  waves,  a  surg- 
ing sea  of  men  and  animals  crowded  together  in  in- 
extricable confusion.  Suddenly  among  the  throng 
of  peasants  a  drove  of  six  or  eight  calves  would  rush 
with  helpless  terror;  a  led  mule  had  cleared  a  space 
around  him,  dealing  kicks  to  right  and  left,  screams 
and  groans  of  pain  were  heard  on  all  sides,  but  those 
behind  continued  pushing  those  in  front  and  the 
space  was  filled  up  again.  The  venders  of  felt  hats 
were  a  curious  sight  as  they  walked  about  with  their 
merchandise  on  their  heads,  towers  of  twenty  or 
thirty  hats  piled  one  above  another,  like  Chinese 
pagodas.  Other  venders  carried  for  sale,  on  a  porta- 
ble counter  slung  from  their  necks  by  ribbons,  balls 
of  thread,  tape,  thimbles,  and  scissors ;  the  venders 
of  distaffs  and  spindles  carried  their  wares  suspended 
around  their  waists,  from  their  breast,  everywhere, 
as  unskillful  swimmers  carry  bladders,  and  the  ven- 
ders of  frying-pans  glittered  in  the  sun  like  feudal 
warriors. 

The  confused  din,  the  ceaseless  movement  of  the 
multitude,  and  the  mingling  together  of  human 
beings  and  animals,  made  the  brain  dizzy,  and  the 


lyo  THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

ear  was  wearied  by  the  plaintive  lowing  of  the  cows 
under  the  drivers'  lash,  the  terrified  cries  of  women, 
the  brutal  hilarity  of  drunken  men  who  issued  from 
the  taverns  with  hats  pushed  far  back  on  their  heads, 
seeking  an  outlet  for  their  superabundant  energy  by 
assaulting  the  men  or  pinching  the  girls.  The  lat- 
ter, screaming  with  terror,  escaped  from  the  drunk- 
ards to  fall,  perhaps,  on  the  horns  of  some  ox  or  to 
receive  a  blow  from  the  snout  of  some  mule  that 
bathed  their  foreheads  and  temples  in  its  frothy 
saliva.  But  most  terrifying  of  all  was  it  to  see 
infants  carried  high  above  their  mothers'  heads, 
braving,  like  frail  skiffs,  the  dangers  of  this 
stormy  sea. 

Nieves  remained  for  half  an  hour  or  so  looking 
out  of  the  window,  and  then,  sight  and  hearing  both 
weary,  she  withdrew.  In  the  afternoon  she  watched 
the  scene  again  for  a  while.  The  buying  and  sell- 
ing was  less  brisk,  and  the  better  classes  of  the 
Border  began  to  make  their  appearance  at  the  fair. 
Agonde,  who,  absorbed  in  the  desperate  gambling 
that  went  on  in  the  back  shop,  had  kept  himself  in- 
visible during  the  day,  now  went  upstairs  and,  while 
he  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  pointed  out 
to  Nieves  the  notabilities  of  the  place,  as  they 
passed     by,    naming    to    her     in    turn     the    arch- 


THE    SWAN  OF   VILAMORTA.  i?! 

priests,  the  parish  priests,  the  physicians,  and  the 

gentry. 

"That  very  thin  man,  riding  that  horse  that  looks 
as  if  it  had  been  strained  through  a  colander,  with 
silver  trimmings  in  his  saddle  and  silver  spurs,  is 
Senorito  de  Limioso,  a  scion  of  the  house  of  the 
Cid— God  save  the  mark!     The  Pazo  of  Limioso  is 
situated    in    the    neighborhood    of    Cebre.     As    for 
money,  they  have  not  an   ochavo ;  they  own  a  few 
barley-fields,  and  a  couple  of  grapevines  past  yield- 
ing, that  bring  them  in  a  trifle.     But  do  you  suppose 
that  Senorito  de  Limioso  would  go   into  an  inn  to 
dine?     No,  Senora;  he  carries  his  bread  and  cheese 
in   his    pocket,  and    he    will    sleep— Heaven  knows 
where.     As  he  is  a  Carlist  they  may  let  him  stretch 
himself  on  the  floor  of  Dona   Eufrasia's  back  shop, 
with  the  saddle  of  his  nag  for  a  pillow,  for  on  a  day 
like    this   there    are   no   mattresses  to   spare.     And 
you    may    be    sure    that    his    servant's   belt    bulges 
out  in  the  way  it  does,  because  he  carries  the  nag's 
feed  in  it." 

''You  exaggerate,  Agonde." 

"Exaggerate?  No,  indeed.  You  have  no  idea 
what  those  gentlemen  are.  Here  they  are  called 
Seven  on  a  horse,  because  they  have  one  horse  for  all 
seven  which  they  ride  in  pairs,  in  turn,  and  when 


17^  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

they  are  near  the  town  they  stop  to  ride  in,  one  by 
one,  armed  with  whip  and  spur,  and  the  nag  comes 
in  seven  different  times,  each  time  with  a  different 
rider.  Why,  see  those  ladies  coming  there,  the  one 
on  a  donkey,  the  other  on  a  mule — the  Seiioritas  de 
Loiro.  They  are  friends  of  the  Molendes.  Look 
at  the  bundles  they  carry  before  them ;  they  are  the 
dresses  for  to-night's  ball." 

"But  are  you  really  in  earnest?" 

"In  earnest?  Yes,  indeed,  Senora.  They  have 
them  all  here,  every  article — the  bustle,  or  whatever 
it  may  be  called,  that  sticks  out  behind,  the  shoes, 
the  petticoats,  and  even  the  rouge.  And  those  are 
very  refined,  they  come  to  the  town  to  dress  them- 
selves; most  of  the  young  ladies,  a  few  years  ago, 
used  to  dress  themselves  in  the  pine  wood  near  the 
echo  of  Santa  Margarita.  As  they  had  no  house  in 
the  toAvn  to  stay  at,  and  they  were  not  going  to  lose 
the  ball,  at  half-past  ten  or  eleven  they  were  among 
the  pines,  hooking  their  low-necked  dresses,  fasten- 
ing on  their  bows  and  their  gewgaws,  and  as  fine  as 
you  please.  All  the  gentry  together,  Nieves,  if  you 
will  believe  me,  could  not  make  up  a  dollar  among 
them.  They  are  people  that,  to  avoid  buying  lard, 
or  making  broth,  breakfast  on  wine  and  water. 
They  hang  up  the  loaf  of  wheaten  bread  among  the 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  173 

rafters  so  that  it  may  be  out  of  reach  and  may  last 
forever.  I  know  them  well — vanity,  and  nothing 
more." 

The  apothecary  spoke  angrily,  multiplying  in- 
stances, and  exaggerating  them  in  the  telling,  with 
the  rage  of  the  plebeian  who  eagerly  seizes  an  oppor- 
tunity to  ridicule  the  poor  aristocracy,  relating  anec- 
dotes of  everyone  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen — 
stories  of  poverty  more  or  less  skillfully  disguised. 
Don  Victoriano  laughed,  remembering  some  of  the 
stories,  now  become  proverbial  in  the  country,  while 
Nieves,  her  anxiety  set  at  rest  by  her  husband's  laugh- 
ter, began  to  think  without  terror,  with  a  certain 
secret  complacency,  rather,  of  the  episodes  of  the 
fireworks.  She  had  feared  to  see  Segundo  among  the 
crowd,  but,  as  the  night  advanced  and  the  brilliant 
colors  of  the  booths  faded  into  the  surrounding  dark- 
ness, and  lights  began  to  appear,  and  the  singing  of 
the  drunkards  grew  hoarser,  her  mind  became  tran- 
quil, and  the  danger  seemed  very  remote,  almost  to 
have  disappeared.  In  her  inexperience  she  had 
fancied  at  first  that  the  poet's  arm  would  leave  its 
trace,  as  it  were,  on  her  waist,  and  that  the  poet 
would  seize  the  first  opportunity  to  present  himself 
before  her,  exacting  and  impassioned,  betraying  him- 
self and  compromising  her.     But  the  day  passed  by, 


174  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

serene  and  without  incident,  and  Nieves  experienced 
the  inevitable  impatience  of  the  woman  who  waits  in 
vain  for  the  appearance  of  the  man  who  occupies 
her  thoughts.  At  last  she  remembered  the  ball. 
Segundo  would  certainly  be  there. 


XV. 

And  she  adorned  herself  for  the  town  ball  with  a 
certain  illusion,  with  the  same  care  as  if  she  were 
dressing  for  a  soiree  at  the  palace  of  Puenteancha. 

Naturally  the  gown  and  the  ornaments  were  very 
different  from  what  they  would  have  been  in  the 
latter  case,  but  they  were  selected  with  no  less  care 
and  consideration — a  gown  of  white  China  crepe, 
high-necked,  and  without  a  train,  trimmed  with 
Valenciennes  lace,  that  fell  in  clinging  folds,  whose 
simplicity  was  completed  by  long  dark  Suede  gloves 
wrinkled  at  the  wrist,  reaching  to  the  elbow.  A 
black  velvet  ribbon,  fastened  by  a  diamond  and 
sapphire  horseshoe,  encircled  her  neck.  Her  beau- 
tiful fair  hair,  arranged  in  the  English  fashion,  curled 
slightly  over  the  forehead. 

She  was  almost  ashamed  of  having  selected  this 
toilette  when  she  crossed  the  muddy  plaza,  leaning 
on  Agonde's  arm,  and  heard  the  poor  music,  and 
found  the  entrance  of  the  townhall  crowded  with 
country-people  sitting  on  the  floor,  whom  it  was 
necessary  to  step  over  to  reach  the  staircase.     On 

^75 


176  J  HE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

the  landings  ran  the  lees  of  the  fair — a  dark  wine- 
colored  rivulet.     Agonde  drew  her  aside. 

"Don't  step  there,  Nieves;  take  care,"  he  said. 

She  felt  repelled  by  this  unsightly  entrance,  call- 
ins  to  mind  the  marble  vestibule  and  staircase  of  the 
palace  of  Puenteancha,  carpeted  down  the  center, 
with  plants  arranged  on  either  side.  At  the  door  of 
the  apartment  which  she  was  now  entering  was  a 
counter  laden  with  cakes  and  confectionery,  at  which 
the  wife  of  Ramon,  the  confectioner,  holding  in  her 
arms  the  inevitable  baby,  presided,  casting  angry 
glances  at  the  young  ladies  who  had  come  to  amuse 
themselves. 

Nieves  was  given  a  seat  in  the  most  conspicuous 
part  of  the  room,  in  front  of  the  door.  The  white- 
washed walls  were  not  very  clean,  nor  was  the  red 
cloth  which  covered  the  benches  very  fresh,  nor  did 
the  badly  snuffed  candles  in  the  tin  chandelier  pro- 
duce a  brilliant  illumination.  Owing  to  the  large 
number  of  people  present  the  heat  was  almost  insup- 
portable. In  the  center  of  the  apartment  the  men 
stood  grouped  together — the  youth  of  Vilamorta, 
visitors  to  the  springs,  strangers,  gamblers,  and  the 
gentry  from  the  neighboring  country,  mingling  in 
one  black  mass.  Every  time  the  band  struck  up 
anew,  deafening  the  ear  with  its  sonorous  strains,  the 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  177 

indefatigable    dancers   would    leave  the  group  and 
hurry  off  in  search  of  their  partners. 

Nieves  watched  the  scene  with  amazement.  The 
young  ladies,  with  their  large  chignons  and  their 
clusters  of  curls,  their  faces  daubed  with  coarse  rice- 
powder,  their  bodices  cut  low  around  the  throat, 
their  long  trains  of  cheap  materials,  continually 
trodden  upon  and  torn  by  the  heavy  boots  of  the 
gallants,  their  clumsy,  tastelessly  arranged  flowers, 
and  their  short-wristed  gloves  of  thick  kid,  too  small 
for  their  hands,  all  seemed  to  her  strange  and  laugh- 
able. She  remembered  Agonde's  descriptions,  the 
toilet  made  in  the  pine  grove,  and  fanned  herself 
with  her  large  black  fan  as  if  to  drive  off  the  pesti- 
lent air  in  which  the  whirl  of  the  dance  enveloped 
her.  The  dancers  pursued  their  task  earnestly,  dili- 
gently, as  if  they  were  contending  for  a  prize  to 
be  awarded  to  the  one  who  should  first  get  out  of 
breath,  moving,  not  with  their  own  motion  only,  but 
impelled  by  the  jostling,  pusliing,  and  crowdhig  of 
those  around  them.  And  Nieves,  accustomed  to  the 
elegant  and  measured  dancing  of  the  soir^es,wondered 
at  the  courage  and  resolution  displayed  by  the  danc- 
ers of  Vilamorta.  Some  of  the  girls,  whose  flounces 
had  been  torn  by  some  gallant's  boot-heel,  turned  up 
their  skirts,  quickly   tore   off  the  whole    trimming. 


178  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

rolled  it  into  a  ball,  which  they  threw  into  a  corner, 
and  then  returned,  smiling  and  contented,  to  the 
arms  of  their  partners.  In  vain  the  men  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  their  faces ;  their  collars  and  shirt- 
fronts  grew  limp,  their  hair  clung  to  their  foreheads ; 
the  silk  bodices  of  the  ladies  began  to  show  stains 
of  perspiration,  and  the  marks  of  their  partners' 
hands.  And  the  gymnastics  continued,  and  the 
dust  and  the  particles  of  perspiration  vitiated  the 
atmosphere,  and  the  floor  of  the  room  trembled. 
There  were  handsome  couples,  blooming  girls  and 
gallant  young  men,  who  danced  with  the  healthy 
gayety  of  youth,  with  sparkling  eyes,  overflowing 
with  animation ;  and  there  were  ridiculous  couples, 
short  men  and  tall  women,  stout  women  and  beard- 
less boys,  a  baldheaded  old  man  and  a  stout,  mid- 
dle-aged woman.  There  were  brothers  who  danced 
with  their  sisters  through  shyness,  because  they 
had  not  the  courage  to  invite  other  young  ladies  to 
dance,  and  the  secretary  of  the  town  council,  married 
for  many  years  to  a  rich  Orensen  who  was  old  and  very 
jealous,  danced  all  the  evening  with  his  wife,  dancing 
polkas  and  waltzes  in  the  time  of  a  Jiabanera  to  keep 
from  dying  by  asphyxiation. 

When    Nieves    entered    the  ballroom,  the    other 
Avomen  looked  at  her,  first  with  curiosity,  then  with 


thb:  swan  of  vilamorta.  179 

surprise.  How  strange  to  come  so  simply  dressed! 
Not  to  wear  a  train  a  yard  and  a  half  long,  nor  a 
flower  in  her  hair,  nor  bracelets  nor  satin  shoes.  Two 
or  three  ladies  from  Orense,  who  had  cherished  the 
expectation  of  making  a  sensation  in  the  ball  of 
Vilamorta,  began  to  whisper  among  themselves, 
criticising  the  artistic  negligence  of  her  attire,  the 
modesty  of  the  white,  high-necked  bodice,  and  the 
grace  of  the  small  head,  with  its  elegantly  arranged 
hair,  vaporous  as  the  engravings  in  La  Ilhistracioii, 
The  Orensens  determined  to  copy  the  fashion-plate, 
the  Vilamortans  and  the  women  of  the  Border,  on 
the  contrary,  criticised  the  Minister's  lady  bitterly. 

**She  is  dressed  almost  as  if  she  would  dress  at 
home." 

"She  does  it  because  she  doesn't  want  to  wear  her 

good  clothes  here.     Of   course  for  a  ball  here 

She  thinks  probably  that  we  know  nothing.  But  she 
might  at  least  have  dressed  her  hair  a  little  better. 
And  how^  easy  It  Is  to  see  that  she  is  bored ;  look, 
why,  she  seems  to  be  asleep." 

**And  a  little  while  ago  she  seemed  as  If  she 
couldn't  sit  still  a  moment — she  kept  tapping  the 
floor  with  her  foot  as  If  she  were  Impatient  to  be 
gone." 

And  it  was  true ;  NIeves  was  bored.     And   if  the 


l8o  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA, 

young  ladies   who    censured  her   could    only    have 
known  the  cause ! 

She  could  see  Segundo  nowhere,  anxiously  as  she 
looked  for  him,  at  first  with  furtive  glances,  then 
openly  and  without  disguise.  At  last  Garcia  came 
to  salute  her,  and  then  she  could  restrain  herself  no 
longer,  and  making  an  effort  to  speak  in  a  natural 
and  easy  tone,  she  asked : 

"And  the  boy?     It  is  a  wonder  he  is  not  here." 
"Who?     Segundo?     Segundo  is — so  eccentric.     If 
you  could  only  guess  what  he  is  doing  now.     Read- 
ing verses  or  composing  them.     We  must  lea\'e  him 
to  his  whims." 

And  the  lawyer  waved  his  hands  with  a  gesture 
that  seemed  to  say  that  the  eccentricities  of  genius 
must  be  respected,  while  in  his  own  mind  he  said : 
"He  is  most  likely  with  that  damned  old  woman." 
The  truth  is  that  nothing  in  the  world  would  have 
induced  the  poet,  under  the  circumstances,  to  come 
to  a  ball  like  the  present  one,  to  be  obliged  to  dance 
with  the  young  country  girls  of  his  acquaintance,  to 
perspire  and  to  be  pulled  about  like  the  other  young 
men.  And  his  absence,  the  result  of  his  aesthetic 
feeling,  produced  a  marvelous  effect  on  Nieves,  effac- 
ing the  last  remnant  of  fear,  stimulating  her  coquet- 
tish instincts,  and  piquing  her  curiosity. 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  i8i 

At  the  same  time,  in  the  radical  circle  that  sur- 
rounded Don  Victoriano  and  his  wife,  the  aproach- 
ing  departure  of  the  Minister  and  Nieves  for  Las 
Vides  to  be  present  at  the  vintage  was  discussed — a 
project  that  delighted  the  Minister  as  an  unexpected 
holiday  delights  a  schoolboy.  The  persons  whom 
the  hidalgo  had  invited  or  intended  to  invite  for 
the  festive  occasion  were  named,  and  when  Agonde 
uttered  Segundo's  namiC  Nieves  raised  her  eyes,  and 
a  look  of  animation  lighted  up  her  face,  while  she 
said  to  herself : 

"He  is  fully  capable  of  not  going." 


XVI. 

A  GREAT  day  for  Las  Vides  is  the  day  appointed 
by  the  town  council  for  the  inauguration  of  the  vin- 
tage. The  whole  year  is  passed  in  looking  forward 
to  and  preparing  for  the  beautiful  harvest  time. 
The  vine  is  still  clothed  in  purple  and  gold,  but  it 
has  already  begun  to  drop  a  part  of  its  rich  garni- 
ture as  a  bride  drops  her  veil,  the  wasps  settle  in 
clusters  on  the  grapes,  announcing  to  man  that  they 
are  now  ripe.  The  last  days  of  September,  serene 
and  peaceful,  are  at  hand.  To  the  vintage  without 
delay ! 

Neither  Primo  Genday  nor  Mendez  takes  a  mo- 
ment's rest.  The  bands  of  vintagers  who  come  from 
distant  parishes  to  hire  themselves  out  must  be  at- 
tended to,  must  have  their  tasks  assigned  them  ;  the 
work  of  gathering  in  the  grapes  must  be  organized 
so  that  it  may  be  advantageously  and  harmoniously 
conducted.  For  the  labors  of  the  vintage  resemble, 
somewhat,  a  great  battle  in  which  an  extraordinary 
expenditure  of  energy  is  required  from  the  soldier, 
a  waste  of  muscle  and   of  blood,  but  in  which  he 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  i^3 

must  be  supplied,  in  return,  with  ever3/tliing  neces- 
sary to  recruit  his  strength  during  his  moments  of 
repose.  In  order  that  the  vintagers  might  engage  in 
their  arduous  labors  with  cheerfulness  and  alacrity,  it 
was  necessary  to  have  at  hand  in  the  cellar  the  cask  of 
must  from  which  the  carters  might  drink  at  discre- 
tion when  they  returned  exhausted  from  the  task 
of  carrying  the  heavy  coleiro,  or  basket,  filled  with 
grapes  up  the  steep  ascents ;  it  was  necessary  that 
they  should  have  an  abundant  supply  of  the  thick 
wine  flavored  with  mutton  suet,  the  sardines  and  the 
barley-bread,  when  the  voracious  appetite  of  the 
bands  demanded  them ;  to  which  end  the  fire  was 
always  kept  burning  on  the  hearth  at  Las  Vides  and 
the  enormous  kettles  in  which  the  mess  was  cooked 
were  always  kept  filled. 

When  in  addition  to  this  the  presence  of  numer- 
ous and  distinguished  guests  be  considered,  some 
idea  may  be  formed  of  the  bustle  of  the  manor- 
house  during  these  incomparable  days.  Its  walls 
sheltered,  besides  the  Comba  family,  Saturnino  and 
Carmen  Agonde,  the  young  and  amiable  curate  of 
Naya,  the  portly  arch-priest  of  Loiro,  Tropiezo, 
Clodio  Genday,  Senorita  de  Limioso  and  the  two 
Senoritas  de  Molende,  Every  class  was  here  repre- 
sented, so  that  Las  Vides  was  a  sort  of  microcosm  or 


184  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

brief  compendium  of  the  world  of  the  province — the 
priests  attracted  by  Primo  Genday,  the  radicals  by 
the  head  of  the  house  of  Mendez.  And  all  these 
people  of  conditions  so  diverse,  finding  themselves 
associated  together,  gave  themselves  up  to  the  en- 
joyment of  the  occasion  in  the  greatest  possible  har- 
mony and  concord. 

To  the  merriment  of  the  vintagers  the  merriment 
of  the  guests  responded  like  an  echo.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  resist  the  influence  of  the  Bacchic  joyous- 
ness,  the  delirious  gayety  which  seemed  to  float  in 
the  atmosphere.  Among  all  the  delightful  specta- 
cles which  Nature  has  to  offer,  there  is  none  more 
delightful  than  that  of  her  fruitfulness  in  the  vintage 
time,  the  baskets  heaped  full  of  clusters  of  ruddy  or 
dark  red  grapes,  which  robust  men,  almost  naked, 
like  fauns,  carry  and  empty  into  the  vat  or  wine- 
press ;  the  laughter  of  the  vintagers  hidden  among 
the  foliage,  disputing,  challenging  each  other  from 
vine  to  vine  to  sing,  a  gayety  which  is  followed  by  a 
reaction  at  nightfall — as  is  usually  the  case  with  all 
violent  expressions  of  feeling  in  which  there  is  a 
great  expenditure  of  muscular  strength;  the  merry 
challenges  ending  in  some  prolonged  Celtic  wail, 
some  plaintive  a-lad-lad.  The  pagan  sensation  of 
well-being,  the  exhilaration  produced  by  the  pure  air 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  185 

of  the  country,  the  mere  joy  of  existence,  communi- 
cated themselves  to  the  spectators  of  these  deUghtful 
scenes,  and  at  night,  while  the  chorus  of  fauns  and 
Bacchantes  danced  to  the  sound  of  the  flute  and  the 
timbrel,  the  gentry  diverted  themselves  with  child- 
ish frolics  in  the  great  house. 

The  young  ladies  slept  all  together  in  a  large,  bare 
apartment,  the  Rosary-room,  the  male  guests  being 
lodged  by  Mendez  in  another  spacious  room  called 
the  screen-room,  because  in  it  was  a  screen,  as  ugly 
as  it  was  antique  ;  the  arch-priest  only  being  excluded 
from  this  community  of  lodging,  his  obesity  and  his 
habit  of  snoring  making  it  impossible  for  any  per- 
son of  even  average  sensibility  tolerate  him  as  a 
roommate ;  and  the  gay  and  mischievous  party 
being  thus  divided  into  two  sections,  there  came  to  be 
established  between  them  a  sort  of  merry  warfare,  so 
that  the  occupants  of  the  Rosary-room  thought  of 
nothing  but  playing  tricks  on  the  occupants  of  the 
screen-room,  from  which  resulted  innumerable  witty 
inventions  and  amusing  skirmishes.  Between  the 
two  camps  there  was  a  neutral  one — that  of  the 
Comba  family,  whose  slumbers  were  respected  and 
who  were  exempt  in  the  matter  of  practical  jokes, 
although  the  feminine  band  often  took  Nieves  as 
their  confidante  and  counselor. 


1 86  THE  SWAN  OF  I'lLAMORTA. 

"Nieves,  come  here,  Nieves;  see,  how  foolish  Car- 
men Agonde  is ;  she  says  she  likes  the  arch-priest, 
that  barrel,  better  than  Don  Eugenifio,  the  parish 
priest  of  Naya,  because  it  makes  her  laugh,  she  says, 
to  see  him  perspiring  and  to  look  at  the  rolls  of  fat 
in  the  back  of  his  neck.  And  say,  Nieves,  what 
trick  shall  we  play  to-night  on  Don  Eugenino?  And 
on  Ramon  Limioso,  who  has  been  daring  us  all 
day?" 

It  was  Teresa  Molende,  a  masculine-looking  black- 
eyed  brunette,  a  good  specimen  of  the  mountaineer, 
who  spoke  thus. 

"They  must  pay  for  the  trick  they  played  on 
us  yesterday,"  added  her  sister  Elvira,  the  sentimen- 
tal poetess. 

"What  was  that?" 

"You  must  know  that  they  locked  Carmen  up. 
They  are  the  very  mischief!  They  shut  her  up  in 
Mendez's  room.  What  is  there  that  they  won't 
think  of !  They  tied  her  hands  behind  her  back  with 
a  silk  handkerchief,  tied  another  handkerchief  over 
her  mouth,  so  that  she  couldn't  scream,  and  left  her 
there  like  a  mouse  in  a  mouse-trap.  And  we,  hunt- 
ing and  hunting  for  Carmen,  and  no  Carmen  to  be 
seen.  And  there  we  were  thinking  all  sorts  of  things 
until  Mendez  went  up  to  his  room  to  go  to  bed  and 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  187 

found  her  there.  Of  course  they  had  that  silly 
creature  to  deal  with,  for  if  it  had  been  I " 

''They  would  shut  you  up  too,"  declared  Carmen. 

"Me!"  exclaimed  the  Amazon,  drawing  up  her 
portly  figure.  "They  would  be  the  ones  to  get  shut 
up !" 

"But  they  entrapped  me  into  it,"  affirmed  Car- 
men, looking  as  if  she  were  just  ready  to  cry.  "See, 
Nieves,  they  said  tome:  'Put  your  hands  behind 
you,  Carmina,  and  we'll  put  a  five-dollar  piece  in 
them,'  and  I  put  them  behind  me,  and  they  were  so 
treacherous  as  to  tie  them  together." 

Nieves  joined  in  the  laughter  of  the  two  sisters. 
It  could  not  be  denied  that  this  simplicity  was  very 
amusing.  Nieves  seemed  to  be  in  a  new  world  in 
which  routine,  the  worn-out  conventionalities  of  Mad- 
rid society,  did  not  exist.  True,  such  noisy  and  ingen- 
uous diversions  might  at  times  verge  on  impropriety 
or  coarseness,  but  sometimes  they  were  really  enter- 
taining. From  the  moment  the  guests  rose  from 
table  in  the  afternoon  nothing  was  thought  of  but 
frolic  and  fun.  Teresa  had  proposed  to  herself  not 
to  allow  Tropiezo  to  eat  a  meal  in  peace,  and  with 
the  utmost  dexterity  she  would  catch  flies  on  the 
wing,  which  she  would  throw  slyly  into  his  soup,  or 
she  would  pour  vinegar  into  his  glass  instead  of  wine, 


i88  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

or  rub  pitch  on  his  napkin  so  that  it  might  stick  to 
his  mouth.  For  the  arch-priest  they  had  another 
trick — they  would  draw  him  on  to  talk  of  ceremo- 
nies, a  subject  on  which  he  loved  to  expatiate,  and 
when  his  attention  was  engaged,  take  away  his  plate 
slyly,  which  was  like  tearing  a  piece  of  his  heart  out 
of  his  breast. 

At  night,  in  the  parlor  of  the  turbid  mirrors,  in 
which  were  the  piano  and  the  rocking-chairs,  a  gay 
company  assembled  ;  they  sang  fragments  of  Eljura- 
mento,  and  El  Gnimete ;  they  played  at  hide-and- 
seek,  and,  without  hiding,  played  brisea  with  malilla 
counters ;  when  they  grew  tired  of  cards,  they  had 
recourse  to  forfeits,  to  mind-reading,  and  other 
amusements.  And  the  frolicsome  rustic  nature  once 
aroused,  they  passed  on  to  romping  games — fool  in 
the  middle,  hoodman-blind,  and  others  which  have 
the  zest  imparted  by  physical  exercise— shouts, 
pushes  and  slaps. 

Then  they  would  retire  to  their  rooms,  still  ex- 
cited by  their  sports,  and  this  was  the  hour  when 
their  merriment  was  at  its  height,  when  they  played 
the  wildest  pranks;  when  they  fastened  lighted 
tapers  to  the  bodies  of  crickets  and  sent  them  under 
the  bedroom  doors ;  when  they  took  the  slats  out  of 
Tropiezo's  bedstead  so  that  when  he  lay  down  he 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMOKTA.  189 

might  fall  to  the  ground  and  bruise  his  ribs.  In  the 
halls  could  be  heard  smothered  bursts  of  laughter 
and  stealthy  footsteps,  white  forms  would  be  seen 
scurrying  away,  and  doors  would  be  hastily  locked 
and  barricaded  with  articles  of  furniture,  while  from 
behind  them  a  mellow  voice  could  be  heard  crying: 

"They  are  coming!" 

"Fasten  the  door  well,  girls !  Don't  open,  not  if 
the  king  himself  were  to  knock!" 


XVII. 

Segundo  was  the  last  of  the  guests  to  arrive  at 
Las  Vides.  As  he  cared  but  little  for  games  and  as 
Nieves  did  not  take  any  very  active  part  in  them 
either,  they  would  often  have  found  themselves 
thrown  for  society  upon  each  other  had  it  not  been 
for  Victorina,  who,  from  the  moment  Segundo  ap- 
peared, never  left  her  mother's  side,  and  Elvira 
Molende  who,  from  the  very  instant  of  his  arrival, 
clung  to  the  poet  like  the  ivy  to  the  wall,  directing 
on  him  a  battery  of  sighs  and  glances,  and  treating 
him  to  sentimental  confidences  and  rhapsodies  sweet 
enough  to  surfeit  a  confectioner's  boy.  From  the 
moment  in  which  Segundo  set  foot  in  Las  Vides, 
Elvira  lost  all  her  animation,  and  assumed  a  lan- 
guishing and  romantic  air,  w^hich  made  her  cheeks 
appear  hollower  and  the  circles  under  her  eyes 
deeper  than  ever.  Her  form  acquired  the  melan- 
choly droop  of  the  willow  and,  giving  up  sports  and 
pranks,  she  devoted  herself  exclusively  to  the  Swan. 

As  it  was  moonlight,  and  the  evenings  were  en- 
joyable out  of  doors,  as  soon  as  the  sun  had  set,  and 

190 


THE  SIVAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  191 

the  labors  of  the  day  were  ended,  and  the  vintagers 
assembled  for  a  dance,  some  of  the  guests  would 
assemble  together  also  in  the  garden,  generally  at 
the  foot  of  a  high  wall  bordered  with  leafy  camellias, 
or  they  would  stop  and  sit  down  for  a  chat  at  some 
inviting  spot  on  their  way  home  from  a  walk.  Elvira 
knew  by  heart  a  great  many  verses,  both  good  and 
bad,  generally  of  a  melancholy  kind— sentimental 
and  elegiac;  she  was  familiar  with  all  the  flowers  of 
poetry,  all  the  tender  verses  which  constituted  the 
poetic  wealth  of  the  locality,  and  uttered  by  her  thin 
lips,  in  the  silvery  tones  of  her  gentle  voice,  with  the 
soft  accents  of  her  native  land,  the  Galician  verses, 
like  an  Andalusian  moral  maxim  in  the  sensual 
mouth  of  a  gypsy,  had  a  peculiar  and  impressive 
beauty — the  sensibility  of  a  race  crystallized  in  a 
poetic  gem,  in  a  tear  of  love.  These  plaintive  verses 
were  interrupted  at  times  by  mocking  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter, as  the  gay  sounds  of  the  castanets  strike  in  on 
the  melancholy  notes  of  the  bagpipes.  The  poems 
in  dialect  acquired  a  new  beauty,  their  freshness  and 
sylvan  aroma  seemed  to  augment  by  being  recited 
by  the  soft  tones  of  a  woman's  voice,  on  the  edge  of 
a  pine  wood  and  under  the  shadow  of  a  grapevine, 
on  a  serene  moonlight  night ;  and  the  rhyme  became 
a  vague  and  dreamy  melopoeia,  like  that  of  certain 


192  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

German  ballads ;  a  labial  music  interspersed  with 
soft  diphthongs,  tender  ;/'s,  x's  of  a  more  melodious 
sound  than  the  hissing  Castilian  cJi.  Generally,  after 
the  recitations  came  singing.  Don  Eugenio,  who 
was  a  Borderer,  knew  some  Portuguese  fados,  and 
Elvira  was  unrivaled  in  her  rendering  of  the  popular 
and  melancholy  song  of  Curros,  which  seems  made 
for  Druidical  nights,  for  nights  illuminated  by  the 
solemn  light  of  the  moon. 

Segundo's  heart  thrilled  with  gratified  vanity 
when  Elvira  recited  shyly,  in  alternation  with  the 
verses  of  the  popular  and  admired  poets  of  the 
country,  songs  of  the  Swan,  which  had  appeared  in 
periodicals  of  Vigo  or  Orense.  Segundo  had  never 
written  in  dialect,  and  yet  Elvira  had  a  book  in 
which  she  pasted  all  the  productions  of  the  un- 
known Swan ;  Teresa,  joining  in  the  animated  con- 
versation with  the  best  intentions  in  the  word,  be- 
trayed her  sister : 

"She  writes  verses  too.  Come,  child,  recite  some- 
thing of  your  own.  She  has  a  copy-book  full  of 
things  invented,  composed  by  herself." 

The  poetess,  after  the  indispensable  excuses  and 
denials,  recited  two  or  three  little  things,  almost 
without  poetic  form,  weak,  sincere  in  the  midst  of 
their  sentimental  falseness — verses  of  the  kind  which 


THE   SWAN  OF   VILAMORTA.  193 

reveal  no  artistic  faculty,  but  which  are  the  sure  in- 
dication that  the  author  or  authoress  feels  an  unsat- 
isfied desire,  longs  for  fame  or  for  love,  as  the  inar- 
ticulate  cry  of  the  infant  expreses  its  hunger.  Se- 
gundo  twisted  his  mustache,  Nieves  lowered  her  eyes 
and  played  with  the  tassels  of  her  fan,  impatient  and 
somewhat  bored  and  nervous.  This  occurred  two  or 
three  days  after  the  arrival  of  Segundo  who,  in  spite 
of  all  his  attempts,  had  not  yet  been  able  to  succeed 
in  saying  a  word  in  private  to  Nieves. 

"How  uncultured  these  young  ladies  are!"  said 
Senora  de  Comba  to  herself,  while  aloud  she  said, 
"How  lovely,  how  tender!  It  sounds  like  some  of 
Grilo's  verses." 


XVIII. 

It  was  something  different  from  poetry  that 
formed  the  theme  of  conversation  of  the  head  of 
the  house  of  Las  Vides,  the  Gendays,  and  the  arch- 
priest,  installed  on  the  balcony  under  the  pretext  of 
enjoying  the  moonlight,  but  in  reality  to  discuss  the 
important  question  of  the  vintage. 

A  fine  crop  !  Yes,  indeed,  a  fine  crop !  The  grape 
had  not  a  trace  of  oidium ;  it  was  clean,  full,  and  so 
ripe  that  it  was  as  sticky  to  the  touch  as  if  it  had 
been  dipped  in  honey.  There  was  not  a  doubt  but 
that  the  new  wine  of  this  year  was  better  than  the 
old  wine  of  last  year.  Last  year's  vintage  was  an 
absolute  failure !  Hail  to-day,  rain  to-morrow  !  The 
grape  with  so  much  rain  had  burst  before  it  was  time 
to  gather  it,  and  had  not  an  atom  of  pulp ;  the  result 
was  a  wine  that  scarcely  left  a  stain  on  the  shirt- 
sleeves of  the  muleteers. 

At  the  recollection  of  so  great  a  calamity,  Mendez 

pressed  his  thin  lips    together,  and  the  arch-priest 

breathed   hard.      And   the   conversation   continued, 

sustained  by   Primo  Genday,  who,  with  much  ver- 

194 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  195 

bosity,  spitting  and  laughter,  recounted  details  of 
harvests  of  twenty  years  before,  declaring: 

"This  year's  crop  is  exactly  like  the  crop  of  '61." 

"Exactly,"  assented  Mendez.  "As  for  the  Re- 
beco,  it  will  not  give  a  load  less  this  year,  and  the 
Grilloa — I  don't  know  but  that  it  will  give  us  six  or 
seven  more.     It  is  a  great  vine,  the  Grilloa !" 

After  these  cheerful  prognostications  of  a  rich  har- 
vest, Mendez  described  with  satisfaction  to  his  at- 
tentive audience  some  improvements  which  he  had 
introduced  into  the  cultivation  of  the  vine.  He  had 
most  of  his  casks  secured  with  iron  hoops ;  they  were 
more  expensive  than  wooden  ones,  but  they  lasted 
longer  and  they  saved  the  troublesome  labor  of  mak- 
ing new  hoops  for  each  harvest ;  he  was  thinking 
too,  by  way  of  experiment,  of  setting  up  a  wine- 
press, doing  away  with  the  repulsive  spectacle  of  the 
trampling  of  the  grapes  by  human  feet,  and  in  order 
that  the  pressed  skins  and  the  pulp  of  the  grapes 
might  not  go  to  waste,  he  would  distill  from  them  a 
refined  alcohol  which  Agonde  would  buy  from  him 
at  its  weight  in  gold. 

Lulled  by  the  grave  voices  discussing  important 
agricultural  questions  on  the  balcony,  Don  Vic- 
toriano,  somewhat  fatigued  by  his  expedition  to  the 
vineyards,  sat  smoking  in  the  rocking-chair,  buried 


196  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

in  painful  meditations.  Since  his  return  from  the 
springs  he  had  been  growing  weaker  day  by  day ; 
the  temporary  improvement  had  vanished ;  the 
debihty,  the  unnatural  appetite,  the  thirst,  and  the 
desiccation  of  the  body  had  increased.  He  remem-- 
bered  that  Sanchez  del  Abrojo  had  told  him  that  a 
slight  perspiration  would  be  of  the  greatest  benefit 
to  him,  and  when  he  observed,  after  he  had  been 
drinking  the  waters  for  a  few  days,  the  re-establish- 
ment of  this  function,  his  joy  knew  no  bounds.  But 
what  was  his  terror  when  he  found  that  his  shirt, 
stiff  and  hard,  adhered  to  his  skin  as  if  it  had  been 
soaked  in  syrup.  He  touched  a  fold  of  the  sleeve 
with  his  lips  and  perceived  a  sweetish  taste.  It  was 
plain!  He  perspired  sugar!  The  glucose  secretion 
was,  then,  uncontrollable,  and  by  a  tremendous  irony 
of  fate  all  the  bitterness  of  his  existence  had  come 
to  end  in  this  strange  elaboration  of  sweet  sub- 
stances. 

For  some  days  past  he  had  noticed  another  alarm- 
ing symptom.  His  sight  was  becoming  afTected. 
As  the  aqueous  humor  of  the  eye  dried  up  the  crys- 
talline lens  became  clouded,  producing  the  cataract 
of  diabetes.  Don  Victorian©  had  chills.  He  re- 
gretted now  having  put  himself  into  the  homicidal 
hands   of  Tropiezo   and   drunk  the  waters.     There 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  197 

was  not  a  doubt  but  that  he  was  being  wrongly 
treated.  From  this  day  forth  a  strict  regimen,  a 
diet  of  fruits,  fecula,  and  milk.  To  live,  to  live,  but 
for  a  year,  and  to  be  able  to  hide  his  malady!  If 
the  electors  saw  their  candidate  blind  and  dying, 
they  would  desert  to  Romero.  The  humiliation  of 
losing  the  coming  election  seemed  to  him  intolerable. 

Bursts  of  silvery  laughter,  and  youthful  exclama- 
tions proceeding  from  the  garden,  changed  the  cur- 
rent of  his  thoughts.  Why  was  it  that  Nieves  did 
not  perceive  the  serious  condition  of  her  husband's 
health?  He  wished  to  dissemble  before  the  whole 
world,  but  before  his  wife Ah,  if  his  wife  be- 
longed to  him  she  ought  to  be  beside  him  now,  con- 
soling and  soothing  him  by  her  caresses  instead  of 
diverting  herself  and  frolicking  among  the  camellias, 
like  a  child.  If  she  was  beautiful  and  fresh  and 
her  husband  sickly,  so  much  the  worse  for  her. 
Let  her  put  up  with  it,  as  was  her  duty.  Bah! 
What  nonsense!  Nieves  did  not  love  him,  had 
never  loved  him  ! 

The  noise  and  laughter  below  increased.  Vic- 
torina  and  Teresa,  the  verses  being  exhausted,  had 
proposed  a  game  of  hide-and-seek.  Victorina  was 
crying  at  every  moment,  "Teresa's  it!"  "Segundo's 
it!" 


igS  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

The  garden  was  very  well  adapted  for  this  exer- 
cise because  of  its  almost  labyrinthine  intricacy, 
owing  to  the  fact  of  its  being  laid  out  in  sloping  ter- 
races supported  on  walls  and  separated  by  rows  of 
umbrageous  trees,  communicating  with  each  other 
by  uneven  steps,  as  is  the  case  with  all  the  estates  in 
this  hilly  country.  Thus  it  was  that  the  play  was 
very  noisy,  as  the  seeker  had  great  difficulty  in  find- 
ing those  who  were  hiding. 

Nieves  endeavored  to  hide  herself  securely,  through 
laziness  so  as  not  to  have  to  run  after  the  others. 
Chance  provided  her  with  a  superb  hiding-place,  a 
large  lemon  tree  situated  at  one  end  of  a  terrace, 
near  some  steps  which  afforded  an  easy  means  of 
escape.  She  hid  herself  here  in  the  densest  part  of 
the  foliage,  drawing  her  light  gown  closely  around 
her  so  that  it  might  not  betray  her.  She  had  been 
only  a  few  moments  in  her  hiding-place  when  a 
shadow  passed  before  her  and  a  voice  murmured 
softly  : 

"Nieves!" 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  startled.  "Who  has  found  me 
out  here?" 

"No  one  has  found  you;  there  is -no  one  looking 
for  you  but  me,"  cried  Segundo  vehemently,  penetra- 
ting into  Nieves'  hiding-place  with  such  impetuosity 


THE  SWAX  OF  VILAMORTA.  IQP 

that  the  late  blossoms  which  whitened  the  branches 
of  the  giant  tree  showered  their  petals  over  their 
heads,  and  the  branches  swayed  rhythmically. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Garcia!"  she  cried,  "for 
Heaven's  sake,  don't  be  imprudent— go  away,  or 
let  me  90.  If  the  others  should  come  and  find  us 
here  what  would  they  say?  For  Heaven's  sake, 
go! 

"You  wish  me  to  go?"  said  the  poet.  "But, 
Senora,  even  if  they  should  find  me  here,  there 
would  be  nothing  strange  in  that ;  a  little  while  ago 
I  was  with  Teresa  Molende  behind  the  camellias 
there ;  either  we  are  playing  or  we  are  not  playing. 
But  if  you  desire  it — ^to  please  you— —  But  before 
I  go  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  question " 

"Somewhere  else — in  the  parlor,"  stammered 
Nieves,  lending  an  anxious  ear  to  the  distant  noises 
and  cries  of  the  game. 

"In  the  parlor!  Surrounded  by  everybody  !  No, 
that  cannot  be.     No,  now,  do  you  hear  me?" 

"Yes,  I  hear  you,"  she  returned  in  a  voice  rendered 
almost  inaudible  by  terror. 

"Well,  then,  I  adore  you,  Nieves  ;  I  adore  you,  and 
you  love  me." 

"Hist!  Silence,  silence!  They  are  coming.  I 
think  I  hear  steps." 


200  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"No,  it  is  the  leaves.  Tell  me  that  you  love  me 
and  I  will  go.'" 

"They  are  coming!  For  Heaven's  sake!  I  shall 
die  of  terror!  Enough  of  jesting,  Garcia,  I  entreat 
you " 

"You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  am  not  jesting. 
Have  you  forgotten  the  night  of  the  fireworks?  If 
you  did  not  love  me  you  would  have  released  your- 
self from  my  arm  on  that  night,  or  you  would  have 
cried  out.  You  look  at  me  sometimes — you  return 
my  glances.     You  cannot  deny  it !" 

Segundo  was  close  to  Nieves,  speaking  with  fiery 
impetuosity,  but  without  touching  her,  although  the 
fragrant,  rustling  branches  of  their^shelter  closed 
around  them,  inviting  them  to  closer  proximity. 
But  Segundo  remembered  the  cold  hard  whale- 
bones, and  Nieves  drew  back,  trembling.  Yes, 
trembling  with  fear.  She  might  cry  out,  indeed,  but 
if  Segundo  persisted  in  remaining  how  annoying  it 
would  be  !  What  a  mortification  !  What  gossip  it 
would  ^v<i^  rise  to !  After  all  the  poet  was  right — 
the  night  of  the  fireworks  she  had  been  culpably 
weak  and  she  was  paying  for  it  now.  And  what 
would  Segundo  do  if  she  gave  him  the  yes  he  asked 
for?    He  repeated  his  proud  and  vehement  assertion : 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  201 

"You  love  me,  Nieves.  You  love  me.  Tell  me 
that  you  love  me,  only  once,  and  I  will  go." 

Not  far  off  could  be  heard  the  contralto  voice  of 
Teresa  Molende  calling  to  her  companions : 

"Nieves — where  is  she?  Victorina,  Carmen,  come 
in,  the  dew  is  falling!" 

And  another  shrill  voice,  that  of  Elvira,  woke  the 
echoes: 

"Segundo!  Segundo!     We  are  going  in  !" 

In  fact  that  almost  imperceptible  mizzle,  which  re- 
freshes the  sultry  nights  of  Galicia,  was  falling;  the 
lustrous  leaves  of  the  lemon  tree  in  which  Nieves  sat, 
shrinking  back  from  Segundo,  were  wet  with  the 
night  dew.  The  poet  leaned  toward  her  and  his 
hands  touched  her  hands  chilled  with  cold  and  ter- 
ror.    He  crushed  them  between  both  his  own. 

"Tell  me  that  you  love  me,  or " 

**But,  good  Heavens,  they  are  calling  me!  They 
are  noticing  my  absence.     I  am  cold !" 

"Tell  me  the  truth  then.  Otherwise  there  is  no 
human  power  that  can  tear  me  from  here — come 
what  will.     Is  it  so  hard  to  say  a  single  word?" 

"And  what  do  you  want  me  to  say,  tell  me?" 

"Do  you  love  me,  yes  or  no?" 

"And  you  will  let  me  go — go  to  the  house?" 


202  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMOR7\4. 

"Anything  you  wish — but  first  tell  me,  do  you 
love  me?" 

The  yes  was  almost  inaudible.  It  was  an  aspira- 
tion, a  prolonged  s.  Segundo  crushed  her  wrists  in 
his  grasp. 

"Do  you  love  me  as  I  love  you  ?     Answer  plainly." 

This  time  Nieves,  making  an  effort,  pronounced 
an  unequivocal  yes.  Segundo  released  her  hands, 
raised  his  own  to  his  lips  with  a  passionate  gesture 
of  gratitude,  and  springing  down  the  stairs,  disap- 
peared among  the  trees. 


XIX. 

NlEVES  drew  a  long  breath.     She  felt  dazed.     She 
shook  her  wrists,  hurt  by  the  pressure  of  Segundo's 
fingers,  and   arranged   her  hair,  wet  with  the   night 
dew,  and  disordered  by  the  contact  of  the  branches. 
What  had  she  said    after   all?     Anything,  no  mat- 
ter what,  to  escape  from  so  compromising  a  situa- 
tion.    She  was  to  blame  for  having  withdrawn  from 
the  others  and  hidden  herself  in  so  retired  a  spot. 
And  with  that  desire  to  give  publicity  to  unimpor- 
tant actions  which    seizes   people  when    they  have 
something  to  conceal  she  called  out :    . 
"Teresa!     Elvira!     Carmen!     Carmen!" 
"Nieves!  where  are  you,  Nieves?"  came  in  answer 
from  various  quarters. 

"Here,  beside  the  big  lemon  tree.  Wait  for  me, 
I  am  coming!" 

When  they  entered  the  house,  Nieves,  who  had 
to  some  extent  recovered  her  composure,  began  to 
reflect  on  what  had  passed  and  could  not  but  won- 
der at  herself.  To  say  }'es  to  Segundo.  She  had 
uttered  the  word  partly  under  compulsion,  but  she 

203 


204  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

had  uttered  it.  How  daring  the  poet  had  been.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  the  son  of  the  lawyer  of  Vila- 
morta  should  be  so  determined.  She  was  a  lady  of 
distinction,  highly  respected,  her  husband  had  just 
been  Minister.  And  Garcia's  family,  what  were 
they — nobodies ;  the  father  wore  collars  frayed  at 
the  edges  that  were  a  sight  to  see ;  they  kept  no  ser- 
vant ;  the  sisters  ran  about  barefooted  half  the  time. 
Even  Segundo  himself — he  had  an  unmistakable 
provincial  air  and  a  strong  Galician  accent.  He 
could  not  indeed  be  called  ugly ;  there  was  something 
remarkable  in  his  face  and  in  his  manner.  He  spoke 
with  so  much  passion  !  As  if  he  commanded  instead 
of  entreating !  What  a  masterful  air  he  had  !  And 
there  was  something  flattering  to  one's  vanity  in  hav- 
ing a  suitor  of  this  kind,  so  ardent  and  so  daring. 
Who  had  ever  fallen  in  love  with  Nieves  before? 
There  were  three  or  four  who  had  made  gallant 
speeches  to  her — one  who  had  watched  her  through 
his  opera-glass.  Everyone  in  Madrid  treated  her 
with  that  indifference  and  consideration  which  re- 
spectable ladies  inspire. 

For  the  rest,  this  persistency  of  Segundo's  was  to 
a  certain  extent  compromising.  Would  people  no- 
tice it?  Would  her  husband  notice  it?  Bah!  Her 
husband  thought  only  of  his  ailments,  of  the  elec- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  205 

tions.  He  scarcely  ever  spoke  to  her  of  anything 
else.  But  what  if  he  should  notice  it?  How  horri- 
ble, good  Heavens!  And  the  girls  who  had  been 
playing  hide  and  seek,  might  they  not  suspect  some- 
thing? Elvira  seemed  more  languishing  and  sighed 
more  frequently  than  usual.  Elvira  admired  Se- 
gundo.  He — no,  he  did  not  pay  the  slightest  atten- 
tion to  her.  And  Segundo's  verses  sounded  well, 
they  were  beautiful;  they  were  worthy  of  a  place  in 
La  Iliistracion.  In  short,  as  they  would  be  obliged 
to  return  to  Madrid  before  the  elections,  there  was 
hardly  any  real  danger.  She  would  always  preserve 
a  pleasant  recollection  of  the  summer.  The  thing 
was  to  avoid — to  avoid 

Nieves  did  not  venture  to  tell  herself  what  it  was 
necessary  to  avoid,  nor  had  she  settled  this  point 
when  she  entered  the  parlor,  where  the  game  of  tre- 
sillo  was  already  going  on.  Sefiora  de  Comba 
seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  played  several  quick 
airs— polkas  and  rigadoons,  for  the  girls  to  dance. 
When  she  stopped  they  cried  out  for  another  air. 

"Nieves,  the  inuiieira!'' 

"The  riveirana,  please !" 

"Do  you  know  the  whole  of  it,  Nieves?" 

"The  whole  of  it — why,  did  I  not  hear  it  in  the 
feasts?" 


2o6  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"Let  US  have  it  then,  come." 

''Who  will  dance  it?" 

"Who  knows  how  to  dance  it?' 

Several  voices  answered  immediately  : 

"Teresa  Molende ;  ah  !  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  her 
dance  it." 

"And  who  will  be  her  partner?" 

"Ramoncine  Limioso  here,  he  dances  it  to  perfec- 
ion. 

Teresa  laughed  in  the  deep,  sonorous  tones  of  a 
man,  declaring  solemnly  that  she  had  forgotten  the 
muneira — that  she  never  knew  it  well.  From  the 
tresillo  table  came  a  protest — from  the  master  of  the 
house,  Mendez :  Teresina  danced  it  to  perfection. 
Let  her  not  try  to  excuse  herself;  no  excuse  would 
avail  her ;  there  was  not  in  all  the  Border  a  girl  who 
danced  the  riveirana  with  more  grace ;  it  was  true 
indeed  that  the  taste  and  the  skill  for  these  old  cus- 
toms of  the  country  were  fast  disappearing. 

Teresa  yielded,  not  without  once  more  affirming 
her  incompetence.  And  after  fastening  up  her  skirt 
with  pins,  so  that  it  might  not  impede  her  move- 
ments she  stopped  laughing  and  assumed  a  modest 
and  ingenuous  air,  veiling  her  large  lustrous  eyes 
under  her  thick  lashes,  dropping  her  head  on  her 
breast,  letting  her  arms  fall    by  her  sides,  swaying 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  207 

them  slightly,  rubbing  the  balls  of  the  thumbs  and 
the  forefingers  together,  and  thus,  moving  with  very- 
short  steps,  her  feet  close  together,  keeping  time  to 
the  music,  she  made  the  tour  of  the  room,  with  per- 
fect decorum,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  stopping 
finally  at  the  head  of  the  room.  While  this  was 
taking  place,  Senorito  de  Limioso  took  off  his  short 
jacket,  remaining  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  put  on  his  hat, 
and  asked  for  an  indispensable  article. 

"Victorina,  the  castanets." 

The  child  ran  and  brought  two  pairs  of  casta- 
nets. The  Senorito  secured  the  cord  between 
his  fingers  and  after  a  haughty  flourish,  began  his 
role.  Teresita's  partner  was  as  lean  and  shriv- 
eled as  Don  Quixote  himself,  and,  like  the  Man- 
chego  hidalgo,  it  was  undeniable  that  he  had  a 
distinguished  and  stately  air,  scrupulously  as  he 
imitated  the  awkward  movements  of  a  rustic.  He 
took  his  place  before  Teresa  and  danced  a  quick 
measure,  courteously  but  urgently  wooing  her  to  lis- 
ten to  his  suit.  At  times  he  touched  the  floor  with 
the  sole  of  his  foot,  at  others  with  his  heel  or  toe 
only,  almost  twisting  his  ankles  out  of  joint  with 
the  rapidity  of  his  movements,  while  he  played  the 
castanets  energetically,  the  castanets  in  Teresa's 
hands    responding    with  a    faint    and    timid    tinkle, 


2o8  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

Pushing  his  hat  back  on  his  head  the  gallant  looked 
boldly  at  his  partner,  approached  his  face  to  hers; 
pursued  her,  urged  his  suit  in  a  thousand  different 
ways,  Teresa  never  altering  her  humble  and  sub- 
missive attitude  nor  he  his  conquering  air,  his  gym- 
nastics, and  his  resolute  movements  of  attack. 

It  was  primitive  love,  the  wooing  of  the  heroic 
ages,  represented  in  this  expressive  Cantabrian  dance, 
warlike  and  rude ;  the  woman  dominated  by  the 
strength  of  the  man  and,  better  than  enamored, 
afraid  ;  all  which  was  more  piquant  in  view  of  the 
Amazon-like  type  of  Teresa  and  the  habitual  shy- 
ness and  circumspection  of  the  Senorito.  There 
was  an  instant,  however,  in  which  the  gallant  peeped 
through  the  barbarous  conqueror,  and  in  the  midst 
of  a  most  complicated  and  rapid  measure  he  bent  his 
knee  before  the  beauty,  describing  the  figure  known 
2iS  ptiiito  del  Sacramento.  It  was  only  for  a  moment 
however ;  springing  to  his  feet  he  gave  his  partner  a 
tender  push  and  they  stood  back  to  back,  touching 
each  other,  caressing  each  other,  and  amorously  rub- 
bing shoulder  against  shoulder  and  spine  against 
spine.  In  two  minutes  they  suddenly  drew  apart 
and  with  a  few  complicated  movements  of  the 
ankles  and  a  few  rapid  turns,  during  which  Teresa's 
skirts  whirled  around  her,  the  riveirana  came  to  an 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  209 

end  and  a  storm  of  applause  burst  from  the  spec- 
tators. 

While  the  Senorito  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
his  brow  and  Teresa  unpinned  her  skirt,  Nieves,  who 
had  risen  from  the  piano,  looked  around  and  noticed 
Segundo's  absence.  Elvira  made  the  same  observa- 
tion but  aloud.  Agonde  gave  them  the  clew  to  the 
mystery. 

"No  doubt  he  is  at  this  moment  in  the  pine 
grove  or  on  the  river-bank.  There  is  scarcely  a 
night  in  which  he  does  not  make  eccentric  expe- 
ditions of  the  kind;  in  Vilamorta  he  does  the 
same  thing." 

"And  how  is  the  door  to  be  closed  if  he  does  not 
come?  That  boy  is  crazy,"  declared  Primo  Genday. 
"We  are  not  all  going  to  do  without  our  sleep,  we 
who  have  to  get  up  early  to  our  work,  for  that 
featherhead.  Hey,  do  you  understand  me?  I  will 
shut  up  the  house  and  let  him  manage  in  the  best 
way  he  can.     Ave  Maria!" 

Mendez  and  Don  Victoriano  protested  in  the 
name  of  courtesy  and  hospitality,  and  until  midnight 
the  door  of  Las  Vides  remained  open,  awaiting  Se- 
gundo's return.  As  he  had  not  come  by  that  time, 
however,  Genday  went  himself  to  bar  the  door  mut- 
tering between  his  teeth : 


2IO  THE  SWAN  OF  VJLAMORTA. 

"Ave  Mar —  Let  him  sleep  out  of  doors  if  he  has 
a  fancy  for  doing  so." 

Segundo,  in  fact,  was  at  this  time  on  his  way  to 
the  pine  grove.  He  was  in  a  state  of  intense  excite- 
ment, and  he  felt  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him 
in  his  present  mood  to  meet  anyone  or  to  take  part 
in  any  conversation.  Nieves,  so  reserved,  so  beau- 
tiful, had  said  yes  to  him.  The  dreams  of  an  ideal 
love  which  had  tormented  his  spirit  were  not,  then, 
destined  never  to  be  realized,  nor  would  fame  be  un- 
attainable when  love  was  already  within  his  ardent 
and  eager  grasp.  With  these  thoughts  passing 
through  his  mind  he  ascended  the  steep  path  and 
walked  enraptured  through  the  pine  grove.  At 
times  he  would  lean  against  the  dark  trunk  of  some 
pine,  his  brow  bared  to  the  breeze,  drinking  in  the 
cool  night  air,  and  listening,  as  in  a  dream,  to  the 
mysterious  voices  of  the  trees  and  the  murmur  of  the 
river  that  ran  below.  Ah,  what  moments  of  happi- 
ness, what  supreme  joys,  were  promised  him  by  this 
love,  which  flattered  his  pride,  excited  his  imagina- 
tion and  satisfied  his  egotism,  the  delicate  egotism 
of  a  poet,  avid  of  love,  of  enjoyments  which  the 
imagination  idealizes  and  the  muse  may  sing  without 
degradation !  All  that  he  had  pictured  in  his  verses 
was  to  be  realized  in  his  life;  and  his  song  would 


THE  S  WA  N-  OF  VILA  MOR  TA.  211 

ring  forth  more  clearly  and  inspiration  would  flow- 
more  freely,  and  he  would  write,  in  blood,  verses  that 
would  cause  his  readers'  hearts  to  thrill  with  emo- 
tion. 

In  defiance  of  duty  and  reason  Nieves  loved  him 
— she  had  told  him  so.  The  poet  smiled  scornfully 
when  he  thought  of  Don  Victoriano,  with  the  pro- 
found contempt  of  the  idealist  for  the  practical  man 
inept  in  spiritual  things.  Then  he  looked  around 
him.  The  pine  grove  had  a  gloomy  air  at  this  hour. 
And  it  was  cold.  Besides  it  must  be  late.  They 
would  be  wondering  at  his  absence  in  Las  Vides. 
Had  Nieves  retired?  With  these  thoughts  passing 
through  his  mind  he  descended  the  rugged  path  and 
reached  the  door  ten  minutes  after  the  careful  hand 
of  Genday  had  secured  the  bolt.  T\\^  contretemps 
did  not  alarm  Segundo ;  he  would  have  to  scale 
some  wall ;  and  the  romance  of  the  incident  almost 
pleased  him.     How  should  he  effect  an  entrance? 

Undoubtedly  the  easiest  way  would  be  by  the  gar- 
den, into  which  he  could  lower  himself  from  the 
brow  of  the  hill — a  question  of  a  few  scratches,  but 
he  would  be  in  his  own  room  in  ten  minutes'  time, 
without  encountering  the  dogs  that  were  keeping 
watch  in  the  yard,  or  any  member  of  the  household, 
as  that  side  of  the  house,  the  side  where  the  dining- 


212  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

room  was  situated,  was  uninhabited.  And  upon 
this  course  he  decided.  He  turned  back  and 
ascended  the  top  of  the  hill,  not  without  some  diffi- 
culty. From  thence  he  could  command  a  view  of 
the  gallery  and  a  good  part  of  the  garden.  He 
studied  the  nature  of  the  declivity,  so  as  to  av9id 
falling  on  the  wall  and  perhaps  breaking  his  leg. 
The  hill  was  bare  and  without  vegetation  and  the 
figure  of  the  Swan  stood  out  boldly  against  the 
background  of  the  sky. 

When  Segundo  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  gallery  for 
the  purpose  of  deciding  on  the  safest  place  for  a 
descent,  he  saw  something  that  troubled  his  senses 
with  a  sweet  intoxication,  something  that  gave  him 
one  of  those  delightful  surprises  which  make  the 
blood  rush  to  the  heart  to  send  it  coursing  back 
joyful  and  ardent  through  the  veins.  In  the  semi- 
obscurity  of  the  gallery,  standing  among  the  flower- 
pots, his  keen  gaze  descried,  without  the  possibility 
of  a  doubt  as  to  the  reality  of  the  vision,  a  white 
figure,  the  silhouette  of  a  woman,  whose  attitude 
seemed  to  indicate  that  she  too  had  seen  him,  had 
observed  him,  that  she  was  waiting  for  him. 

Fancy  swiftly  sketched  out  and  filled  in  the  details 
of  the  scene — a  colloquy,  a  divine  colloquy  of  love 
with   Nieves,  among  the  carnations  and   the  vines, 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  ^13 

alone,  without  any  other  witnesses  than  the  moon, 
already  setting,  and  the  flowers,  envious  of  so  much 
happiness.  And  with  a  swift  movement  he  rolled 
down  the  steep  declivity,  landing  on  the  hard  wall. 
The  fruit  trees  hid  the  path  from  him,  and  two  or 
three  times  he  lost  his  way;  at  last  he  found  him- 
self at  the  foot  of  the  staircase  leading  to  the  gallery, 
and  he  raised  his  eyes  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  the 
reality  of  the  lovely  apparition.  A  woman  dressed  in 
white  was  indeed  waiting  there,  leaning  over  the 
wooden  balustrade  of  the  balcony ;  but  the  distance 
did  not  now  admit  of  any  optical  illusion ;  it  was  El- 
vira Molende,  in  a  percale  wrapper,  her  hair  hanging 
loose  about  her  shoulders,  as  if  she  were  an  actress 
rehearsing  the  role  of  Sonnambula.  How  eagerly 
the  poor  girl  was  leaning  over  the  balustrade !  The 
poet  would  swear  that  she  even  called  his  name 
softly,  with  a  tender  lisp. 

And  he  passed  on.  He  made  the  tour  of  the  gar- 
den, entered  the  courtyard  by  the  inner  door,  which 
was  not  closed  at  night,  and  knocked  loudly  at  the 
door  of  the  kitchen.  The  servant  opened  it  for  him, 
cursing  to  himself  the  young  gentlemen  who  stayed 
up  late  at  night  because  they  were  not  obliged  to 
rise  early  in  the  morning  to  open  the  cellar  for  the 
grape-tramplers. 


XX. 

As  the  time  occupied  in  the  gathering  of  the 
grapes  and  the  elaboration  of  the  wine  in  the  spa- 
cious cellar  of  Mendez  was  so  prolonged,  and  as  in 
that  part  of  the  country  everyone  has  his  own  crop, 
however  small,  to  gather  in,  part  of  the  guests  went 
away,  desirous  of  attending  to  their  own  vineyards. 
Senorito  de  Limioso  needed  to  see  for  himself  how, 
between  oi'dium,  the  blackbirds,  the  neighbors,  and 
the  wasps,  not  a  single  bunch  of  grapes  had  been 
left  him ;  the  Senoritas  de  Molende  had  to  hang  up 
with  their  own  hands  the  grapes  of  their  famous 
Tostado,  renowned  throughout  the  country;  and  for 
similar  reasons  Saturnino  Agonde,  the  arch-priest, 
and  the  curate  of  Naya  took  their  leave  one  by  one, 
the  court  of  Las  Vides  being  reduced  to  Carmen 
Agonde,  maid  of  honor,  Clodio  Genday,  Aulic  coun- 
cilor, Tropiezo,  court  physician,  and  Segundo,  who 
might  well  be  the  page  or  the  troubadour  charged 
to  divert  the  chatelaine  with  his  ditties. 

Segundo  was  consumed  with  a  feverish  impatience 
hitherto  unknown  to  him.     Since  the  day  of  the  in- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  21^ 

terview  in  the  lemon  tree  Nieves  had  shunned  every 
occasion  of  being  alone  with  him ;  and  the  feverish 
dream  that  haunted  his  sleep,  the  intolerable  anguish 
which  consumed  him,  was  that  he  had  advanced  no 
further  than  the  fugitive  yes^  which  he  sometimes 
even  doubted  he  had  heard.  He  could  not  endure 
this  slow  torture,  this  ceaseless  martyrdom ;  he 
would  have  been  less  unhappy  if  instead  of  encour- 
aging him  Nieves  had  requited  his  love  with  open 
scorn.  It  was  not  the  brutal  desire  for  positive  vic- 
tories which  thus  tormented  him  ;  all  he  wished  was 
to  convince  himself  that  he  was  really  loved,  and 
that  under  that  steely  corset  a  tender  heart  throbbed. 
And  so  mad  was  his  passion  that  when  he  found  it 
impossible  to  approach  Nieves,  he  was  seized  by  an 
almost  irresistible  impulse  to  cry  out,  "Nieves,  tell 
me  agam  that  you  love  me  I"  Always,  always  ob- 
stacles between  the  two ;  the  child  was  always  at 
her  mother's  side.  Of  what  avail  was  it  to  be  rid  of 
Elvira  Molende  who,  since  the  memorable  night  on 
which  she  had  kept  guard  in  the  gallery,  had  looked 
at  the  poet  with  an  expression  that  was  half  satirical, 
half  mournful?  The  departure  of  the  poetess  re- 
moved an  obstacle,  indeed,  but  it  did  not  put  an 
end  to  his  difficulties. 

Segundo  suffered  in  his  vanity,  wounded  by  the 


2i6  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

systematic  reserve  of  Nieves,  as  well  as  in  his  love, 
his  ardent  longing  for  the  impossible.  It  was  already 
October;  the  ex-Minister  spoke  of  taking  his  depar- 
ture immediately,  and  although  Segundo  counted 
on  establishing  himself  in  Madrid  later  on  through 
his  influence,  and  meeting  Nieves  again,  an  infallible 
instinct  told  him  that  between  Nieves  and  himself 
there  existed  no  other  bond  of  union  than  their 
temporary  sojourn  in  Las  Vides,  the  poetic  influ- 
ences of  the  season,  the  accident  of  living  under  the 
same  roof,  and  that  if  this  dream  did  not  take  shape 
before  their  separation  it  would  be  as  ephemeral  as 
the  vine  leaves  that  were  now  falling  around  them, 
withered  and  sapless. 

Autumn  was  parting  with  its  glories;  the  wrinkled 
and  knotted  vine  stalks,  the  dry  and  shrunken  vjne 
branches,  lay  bare  to  view,  and  the  wind  moaned 
sadly,  stripping  their  leaves  from  the  boughs  of  the 
fruit  trees.     One  day  Victorina  asked  Segundo: 

"When  are  we  going  to  the  pine  grove  to  hear  it 
smg?" 

"Whenever  3'ou  like,  child.  This  afternoon  if 
5^our  mother  wishes  it." 

The  child  conveyed  the  proposition  to  Nieves. 
For  some  time  past  Victorina  had  been  more  than 
usually   demonstrative   toward   her  mother,  leaning 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  217 

her  head  upon  Nieves'  breast,  hiding  her  cheek  in 
her  neck,  passing  her  hands  over  her  hair  and  her 
shoulders  while  she  would  repeat  softly,  in  a  voice 
that  seemed  to  ask  for  a  caress : 

"Mamma!  mamma!" 

But  the  eyes  of  the  miniature  woman,  half-veiled 
by  their  long  lashes,  were  fixed  with  loving,  longing 
glance,  not  on  her  mother,  but  on  the  poet,  whose 
words  the  child  drank  in  eagerly,  turning  very  red  if 
he  chanced  to  make  some  jesting  remark  to  her  or 
gave  any  other  indication  of  being  aware  of  her 
presence. 

Nieves  objected  a  little  at  first,  not  wishing  to 
appear  credulous  or  superstitious. 

''But  what  has  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head? " 

"^Mai^ima,  when  Segundo  says  that  the  pines  sing, 
they  sing,  mamma,  there  is  not  a  doubt  of  it." 

"But  you  don't  know,"  said  Nieves,  bestowing  on 
the  poet  a  smile  in  which  there  was  more  sugar  than 
salt — "that  Segundo  writes  poetry,  and  that  people 
who  write  poetry  are  permitted  to — to  invent — a 
little?" 

"No,  Senora,"  cried  Segundo.  "Do  not  teach 
your  child  what  is  not  true.  Do  not  deceive  her. 
In  society  it  often  happens  that  we  utter  with  the 
lips  sentiments  that  are  far  from  the  heart,  but  in 


2i8  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

poetry  we  lay  bare  the  feelings  of  the  inmost  soul, 
feelings  which  in  the  world  we  are  obliged  to  hide  in 
our  own  breasts,  through  respect — or  through  pru- 
dence.    Believe  me." 

"Say,  mamma,  are  we  going  there  to-day?" 

"Where?" 

"To  the  pine  grove." 

"If  you  are  very  anxious  to  go.  What  an  obsti- 
nate child  I  But  indeed  I  too  am  curious  to  hear 
this  orchestra." 

Only  Nieves,  Victorina,  Carmen,  Segundo,  and 
Tropiezo  took  part  in  the  expedition.  The  elders 
remained  behind  smoking  and  looking  on  at  the 
important  operation  of  covering  and  closing  some  of 
the  vats  which  contained  the  must,  now  fermented. 
As  Mendez  saw  the  party  about  to  start,  he  called 
out  in  a  tone  of  paternal  warning: 

"Take  care  with  the  descent.  The  pine  needles  in 
this  hot  weather  are  as  slippery  as  if  they  had  been 
rubbed  with  soap.  The  ladies  must  be  helped  down. 
You,  Victorina,  don't  be  crazy;  don't  go  rushing 
about  there." 

The  famous  pine  grove  was  distant  some  quarter 
of  a  league,  but  they  spent  fully  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  in  making  the  ascent,  along  a  path  as  steep, 
narrow,  and  rugged  as  the  ascent  to  heaven  is  said  to 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  2ig 

be,  and  which  long  before  reaching  the  wood  was 
carpeted  with  the  polished,  smooth,  dry  pine  needles, 
which,  if  they  rendered  the  descent  more  easy  than 
was  agreeable,  compensated  for  it  by  making  the 
ascent  extremely  difficult,  causing  the  foot  to  slip, 
and  fatiguing  the  ankles  and  the  knees.  Nieves 
stopped  from  time  to  time  to  take  breath,  and  was 
at  last  fain  to  avail  herself  of  the  support  of  the 
plump  arm  of  Carmen  Agonde. 

''Caramba,  this  is  like  practicing  gymnastics! 
Whoever  escapes  being  killed  when  we  are  going 
back  will  be  very  lucky." 

"Lean  well  on  me,  lean  well  on  me,"  said  the 
sturdy  country  girl.  ''Many  a  limb  has  been  broken 
here  already,  no  doubt.     This  ascent  is  terrible !" 

They  reached  the  summit  at  last.  The  prospect 
was  beautiful,  with  that  species  of  beauty  that  bor- 
ders on  sublimity.  The  pine  wood  seemed  to  hang 
over  an  abyss.  Between  the  trunks  of  the  trees 
could  be  caught  glimpses  of  the  mountains,  of  an 
ashen  blue  blending  into  violet  in  the  distance;  on 
the  other  side  of  the  pine  wood,  that  which  over- 
looked the  river,  the  ground  fell  abruptly  in  a  steep, 
almost  perpendicular  descent,  while  far  below  flowed 
the  Avieiro,  not  winding  peacefully  along,  but  noisy 
and  foaming,  roused  into  rage  by  the  barrier  opposed 


2  20  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

to  its  progress  by  some  sharp  black  rocks  and  sepa- 
rating into  numerous  currents  that  curled  around  the 
bowlders  like  angry  green  snakes  covered  with  silver 
scales.  To  the  roaring  and  sobbing  of  the  river  the 
pine  wood  kept  accompaniment  with  its  perpetual 
plaint  intoned  by  the  summits  of  the  trees,  which 
swayed  and  vibrated  to  the  kisses  of  the  breeze, 
dolorous  kisses  that  drew  from  them  an  incessant 
moan. 

The  excursionists,  impressed  by  the  tragic  aspect 
of  the  scene,  remained  mute.  Only  the  child  broke 
the  silence,  speaking  in  tones  as  hushed  as  if  she 
were  in  a  church. 

"Well,  it  is  true,  mamma!  The  pines  sing.  Do 
you  hear  them?  It  sounds  like  the  chorus  of  bishops 
in  *  L'Africaine.'  They  even  seem  to  speak — listen — 
in  bass  voices — like  that  passage  in  the  'Hugue- 
nots 

Nieves  agreed  that  the  murmur  of  the  pines  was 
in  truth  musical  and  solemn.  Segundo,  leaning 
against  a  tree,  looked  down  at  the  river  foaming  be- 
low ;  Victorina  approached  him,  but  he  stopped  her 
and  made  her  go  back. 

"No,  my  child,"  he  said;  "don't  come  near;  it  is  a 
little  dangerous;  if  you  should  lose  your  footing  and 
roll  down  that  declivity Go  back,  go  back," 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  221 

As  nothing  further  occurred  to  them  to  say  about 
the  pines,  the  excursionists  began  to  think  of  return- 
ing  home;  Nieves  was  a  httle  uneasy  about  the  de- 
scent, and  she  wished  to  undertake  it  before  the  sun 
should  set. 

"Now,  indeed,  we  shall  break  some  of  our  bones, 
Don  Fermin,"  she  said  to  the  doctor.  "Now,  indeed, 
you  may  begin  to  get  your  bandages  and  splints 
ready." 

"There  is  another  road,"  said  Segundo,  emerging 
from  his  abstraction.  "And  one  which  is  much  less 
toilsome  and  much  more  level  than  this." 

"Yes,  talk  to  us  now  about  the  other  road,"  cried 
Tropiezo,  true  to  his  habit  of  voting  with  the  oppo- 
sition. "It  is  even  worse  than  the  one  by  which  we 
came." 

"How  should  it  be  worse,  man?  It  is  a  little 
longer,  but  as  it  is  not  so  steep  it  is  the  best  in  the 
end.     It  skirts  the  pine  wood." 

"Do  you  want  to  tell  me  which  is  the  best  road — 
me  who  know  the  whole  country  as  well  as  I  know 
my  own  house?  You  cannot  go  by  that  road;  I 
know  what  I  am  saying." 

"And  I  say  that  you  can,  and  I  will  prove  it  to 
you.  For  -once  in  your  life  don't  be  stubborn.  I 
came  by  it  not  many  days  ago.     Do  you  remember, 


22  2  THE   SWAN   OF  VILAMORTA. 

Nieves,  the  night  we  played  hide-and-seek  in  the 
garden,  the  night  they  barred  me  out  and  I  got  over 
the  wall?" 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  thick  shade  cast  by  the 
pine  trees  and  the  fading  daylight,  it  would  have 
been  seen  that  Nieves  blushed. 

"Let  us  take  whichever  road  is  easiest  and  most 
level, "she  said,  evading  an  answer.  "I  am  very  awk- 
ward about  walking  over  rough  roads." 

Segundo  offered  his  arm,  saying  jestingly: 

"That  blessed  Tropiezo  knows  as  much  about 
roads  as  he  does  about  the  art  of  healing.  Come, 
and  you  shall  see  that  we  will  be  the  gainers  by  it." 

Tropiezo,  on  his  »side,  was  saying  to  Carmen 
Agonde,  shaking  his  head  obstinately : 

"Well,  we  will  please  ourselves  and  go  by  the  cut, 
and  arrive  before  they  do,  safe  and  sound,  with  the 
help  of  God." 

Victorina,  according  to  her  custom,  was  going  to 
her  mother's  side,  when  the  doctor  called  out  to  her : 

"Here,  take  hold  of  the  end  of  my  stick  or  you 
will  slip.  Your  mamma  will  have  enough  to  do  to 
keep  herself  from  falling.  And  God  save  us  from 
a  trip,''  he  added,  laughing  loudly  at  his  jest. 

The  voices  and  footsteps  receded  in  the  distance, 
and  Segundo  and  Nieves  continued   on  their  way  in 


THE    SWAN   OF  VILAMORTA.  223 

silence.  The  precipitous  character  of  the  path  along 
which  they  walked  inspired  Nieves  with  something 
like  fear.  It  was  a  little  path  cut  on  the  slope  of 
the  pine  wood,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  precipice, 
almost  overhanging  the  river.  Although  Segundo 
gave  Nieves  the  least  dangerous  side,  that  next  the 
wood,  leaving  himself  scarcely  a  foothold,  so  that  he 
was  obliged  to  place  one  foot  horizontally  before  the 
other,  in  walking,  this  did  not  set  her  fears  at  rest  or 
make  the  adventure  seem  any  the  less  dangerous  to 
her.  Her  terror  was  increased  a  hundredfold  when 
she  saw  that  they  were  alone. 

*'Are  they  not  coming?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"We  will  overtake  them  in  less  than  ten  minutes. 
They  are  going  by  the  other  road,"  answered  Se- 
gundo, without  adding  a  single  word  of  endearment, 
or  even  pressing  the  arm  which  trembled  with  terror 
within  his. 

"Let  us  go  on,  then,"  said  Nieves,  in  tones  of 
urgent  entreaty.     'T  am  anxious  to  be  home." 

**Why?"  asked  the  poet,  suddenly  standing  still. 

'T  am  tired — out  of  breath " 

"Well,  you  shall  rest  and  take  a  drink  of  water  if 
you  desire  it." 

And  with  rash  hardihood  Segundo,  without  wait- 
ing for  an  answer,  drew  Nieves  down  the  slope  and, 


224  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

skirting  the  rock,  stopped  on  a  narrow  ledge  which 
projected  over  the  river.  By  the  fading  sunset  light 
they  discried  a  crystal  thread  of  water  trickling  down 
the  black  front  of  the  rock. 

"Drink,  if  you  wish — in  the  palm  of  your  hand, 
for  we  have  no  glass,"  said  Segundo. 

Nieves  mechanically  released  Segundo's  arm, 
scarcely  conscious  of  what  she  was  doing,  and  took 
a  step  toward  the  stream  ;  but  the  ground  at  the 
base  of  the  rock,  kept  moist  by  the  dripping  of  the 
water,  was  overgrown  with  humid  vegetation  as  slip- 
pery as  sea-weed,  and  as  she  set  her  foot  upon  it  she 
slipped  and  lost  her  balance.  In  her  vertigo,  she 
saw  the  river  roaring  menacingly  below,  the  sharp 
rocks  waiting  to  receive  her  and  mangle  her  flesh, 
and  she  already  felt  the  chill  air  of  the  abyss.  A 
hand  clutched  her  by  her  gown,  by  her  flesh,  per- 
haps ;  held  her  up  and  drew  her  back  to  safety.  She 
dropped  her  head  on  Segundo's  shoulder  and  the 
latter,  for  the  first  time,  felt  Nieves*  heart  beat  under 
his  hand.  And  how  quickly  it  beat !  It  beat  with 
fear.  The  poet  bent  over  her,  and  on  her  very  lips 
breathed  this  question : 

"Do  you  love  me?  tell  me,  do  you  love  me?" 

The  answer  was  inaudible,  for  even  if  the  words 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  225 

had  been  formed  in  her  throat  her  sealed  Hps  were 
unable  to  articulate  them.  During  this  short  space 
of  time,  which  was  for  them  an  eternity,  there 
flashed  across  Segundo's  brain  a  thought  potent  and 
destructive  as  the  electric  spark.  The  poet  stood 
fronting  the  precipice,  Nieves  with  her  back  toward 
it,  kept  from  falling  over  its  edge  only  by  the  arm 
of  her  savior.  A  movement  forward,  a  stronger 
pressure  of  his  lips  to  hers,  would  be  sufficient  to 
make  them  both  lose  their  balance  and  precipitate 
them  into  the  abyss.  It  would  be  a  beautiful  end- 
ing— worthy  of  the  ambitious  soul  of  a  poet.  Think- 
ing of  it  Segundo  found  it  alluring  and  desirable,  and 
yet  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  an  animal  im- 
pulse, but  one  more  powerful  than  the  romantic  idea, 
placed  between  the  thought  and  the  action  an  in- 
superable barrier.  He  pleased  himself,  in  imagina- 
tion, with  the  picture  of  the  two  bodies  clasped  in 
each  other's  arms,  borne  along  by  the  current  of  the 
river.  He  even  saw  in  fancy  the  scene  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  corpses,  the  exclamations;  the  pro- 
found impression  that  such  an  event  would  cause  in 
the  district ;  and  something,  some  poetic  feeling  that 
stirred  and  thrilled  in  his  youthful  soul,  urged  him 
to  take  the  leap ;  but  at  the  same  time  a  cold  fear 


2  26  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

congealed  his  blood,  obliging  him  to  proceed  slowly, 
not  toward  the  abyss,  but  in  an  opposite  direction, 
toward  the  path. 

All  this,  short  enough  in  the  telling,  was  instanta- 
neous in  the  thinking.  Segundo  felt  a  cold  chill 
strike  through  him,  putting  to  flight  thoughts  of 
love  as  well  as  of  death.  It  was  the  chill  communi- 
cated to  him  by  the  lips  of  Nieves,  who  had  fainted 
in  his  arms. 

He  dipped  his  handkerchief  in  the  spring  and 
applied  it  to  her  temples  and  wrists.  She  half 
opened  •  her  eyes.  They  could  hear  Tropiezo  talk- 
ing, Carmen  laughing;  they  were  coming  doubtless 
in  search  of  them,  to  triumph  over  them.  Nieves, 
when  she  came  back  to  consciousness  and  found 
herself  still  alone,  did  not  make  the  slightest  effort 
to  free  herself  from  the  poet's  embrace. 


*      XXI. 

As  if  by  tacit  agreement  the  hero  and  heroine  of 
the  adventure  made  light  of  the  danger  they  had 
run,  to  their  companions  in  the  excursion  in  the  first 
place,  and  afterward  to  the  elders  at  Las  Vides. 
Segundo  observed  a  certain  reticence  regarding  the 
particulars  of  the  occurrence.  Nieves,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  more  talkative  than  usual,  speaking  with 
nervous  loquacity,  going  over  the  most  insignificant 
details  a  hundred  times.  She  had  slipped ;  Garcia 
had  reached  out  his  hand  to  her;  she  had  caught  it, 
and  as  she  was — well — timid,  she  had  been  a  little 
frightened,  although  there  was  not  the  slightest 
occasion  for  being  so.  But  the  obstinate  Tropiezo, 
with  mild  scorn,  contradicted  her.  Good  Heavens, 
how  mistaken  she  was!  No  danger?  Why,  it  was 
only  by  a  miracle  that  Nieves  was  not  now  floating 
in  the  Avieiro.  The  ground  there  was  as  slippery 
as  soap,  and  the  stones  below  were  as  sharp  as  razors, 
and  the  current  was  so  strong  that — • —  Nieves 
denied  the  danger,  making  an  effort  to  laugh  ;  but  the 

terror  of  the  accident  had  left  unmistakable  traces 

227 


2  28  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

upon  her  countenance,  changing  its  warm  healthy  pal- 
lor to  a  sickly  hue,  producing  dark  circles  under  her 
eyes,  and  making  her  features  twitch  convulsively, 

Segundo  longed  to  say  a  few  -words  to  her,  to  ask 
her  to  grant  him  an  interview ;  he  comprehended 
that  he  must  avail  himself  of  these  first  moments, 
while  her  soul  was  still  under  the  softening  influence 
of  gratitude  and  fright  which  made  her  cold  heart 
palpitate  beneath  the  whalebone  of  her  stays.  In 
the  brief  scene  of  the  precipice  the  arrival  of  Tro- 
piezo  had  allowed  Nieves  no  time  to  respond  ex- 
plicitly to  the  poet's  ardor,  and  Segundo  wished  to 
come  to  some  agreement  with  her,  to  devise  some 
means  of  seeing  each  other  and  talking  to  each  other 
alone,  to  establish  the  fact  at  once  that  all  these 
anxieties,  these  vigils,  these  intrigues,  were  loye  and 
requited  love — a  mutual  passion,  in  short.  When 
and  how  should  he  find  the  desired  opportunity  of 
establishing  an  understanding  with  Nieves? 

It  may  be  said  that  in  the  history  of  every  love 
affair  there  exists  a  first  period  in  which  obstacles  ac- 
cumulate and  difficulties,  seemingly  insurmountable, 
arise,  driving  to  despair  the  lover  who  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  conquer  them,  and  that  there  comes, 
too,  a  second  period  in  which  the  mysterious  force 
of  desire  and  the  power  of  the  will   sweep   away 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  229 

these  obstacles,  and  circumstances,  for  the  moment 
favorable,  aid  the  lovers.  So  it  happened  on  the 
night  of  this  memorable  day.  As  Victorina  had 
been  somewhat  frightened,  hearing  of  the  danger 
her  mother  had  been  in,  she  had  been  sent  to  bed 
early,  and  Carmen  Agonde  had  remained  with  her  to 
put  her  asleep  by  telling  her  stories.  The  principal 
witnesses  being  thus  removed  and  the  elders  plunged 
in  one  of  their  interminable  viticultural,  agricultural, 
and  sociological  discussions,  Nieves,  who  had  gone 
out  on  the  balcony  for  air — for  she  felt  as  if  she  had 
a  lump  in  her  throat  which  prevented  her  from 
breathing — had  an  opportunity  to  chat  for  ten  min- 
utes with  Segundo,  who  was  standing  near  the  win- 
dow, not  far  from  the  rocking-chairs. 

Occasionally  they  would  raise  their  voices  and 
speak  on  indifferent  subjects — the  afternoon's  acci- 
dent, the  strange  singing  of  the  pines.  And  low, 
very  low,  the  diplomatic  negotiation  of  the  poet  fol- 
lowed its  course.  An  interview,  a  conversation  with 
some  degree  of  freedom.  Why,  of  course  it  could 
be  !  Why  could  it  not  take  place  in  the  gallery  that 
very  night?  No  one  was  going  to  think  of  going 
there  to  spy  out  what  was  passing.     He  could   let 

himself  down  easily  into  the  garden He  could 

not?     She  was  very  timid It  would  be  wrong? 


230  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

Why  ? — ^She  was  tired  and  not  very  well Yes,  he 

understood.  She  would  prefer  the  daytime,  per- 
haps.    Well,  the    other  would    be    better,  but 

Without  fail?  At  the  hour  of  the  siesta?  In  the 
parlor?  No;  nobody  ever  went  there;  everyone 
was  asleep.  On  her  word  of  honor? — Thanks.  Yes, 
it  was  necessary  to  dissemble  so  as  not  to  attract 
attention. 

Meantime  the  gentlemen  at  the  tresillo  table 
talked  of  the  vintage  and  its  consequences.  The 
poor  country  girls  earned  a  good  deal  of  money  at 
the  work.  Apropos  of  which  Don  Victoriano  gave 
expression  to  some  of  his  favorite  ideas,  referring  to 
English  legislature,  and  eulogizing  the  wisdom  of 
that  great  nation  whose  laws  regulating  labor  give 
evidence  of  a  careful  study  of  the  problems  it  in- 
volves, and  of  some  regard  for  the  welfare  of  wom- 
en and  children.  With  these  serious  disquisitions 
the  evening  ended,  every  owl  retiring  to  his  olive 
tree. 

Nieves,  seated  at  her  toilet  table,  her  open  dress- 
ing-case and  a  small  silver-framed  mirror  before  her, 
was  taking  out,  one  by  one,  the  tortoise-shell  hair- 
pins which  fastened  her  hair.  Mademoiselle  gath- 
ered them  together  and  arranged  them  neatly  in  a 
box  and  braided  Nieves'  hair,  after  which  the  latter 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  ^31 

threw  herself  back  in  her  seat  and  drew  a  deep 
breath ;  suddenly  she  looked  up. 

*'If  you  could  make  me  a  cup  of  lime  tea,"  she 
said,  **in  your  own  room,  without  troubling  any- 
body?" 

The  Frenchwoman  left  the  room  and  Nieves 
leaned  her  elbow  thoughtfully  on  the  table,  resting 
her  cheek  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  without  moving 
her  eyes  from  the  mirror.  Her  face  was  deathly 
pale.  No,  this  life  could  not  continue ;  if  it  did  it 
would  carry  her  to  her  grave.  She  was  very  nervous 
— what  terrors !  What  anxiety,  what  moments  of 
anguish  she  had  suffered !  She  had  seen  death  face 
to  face,  and  had  had  more  frights,  more  fears,  more 
misery  in  a  single  day  than  in  all  the  previous  years 
of  her  existence  put  together.  If  this  were  love  in 
truth  there  was  little  that  was  pleasing  in  it ;  such 
agitations  were  not  suited  to  her.  It  was  one  thing 
to  like  to  be  pretty,  and  to  be  told  so,  and  even  to 
have  a  passionate  adorer,  and  another  to  suffer  these 
incessant  anxieties,  these  surprises  that  bring  one's 
heart  to  one's  mouth  and  expose  one  to  the  risk  of 
disgrace  and  destroy  one's  health.  And  the  poets 
say  that  this  is  happiness.     It  may  be  so  for  them — 

as  for  the  poor  women And  why  had  she  not  the 

courage  to  tell  Segundo  that  there  must  be  an  end 


232  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

to  this,  to  say  to  him:  "I  can  endure  these  alarms 
no  longer.  I  am  afraid.  I  am  miserable  !"  Ah,  she 
was  afraid  of  him,  too.  He  was  capable  of  killing 
her;  his  handsome  black  eyes  sent  forth  at  times 
electric  sparks  and  phosphoric  gleams.  And  then 
he  always  took  the  lead,  he  dominated  her,  he  mas- 
tered her.  Through  him  she  had  been  on  the  point 
of  falling  into  the  river,  of  being  dashed  to  pieces  on 
the  rocks.  Holy  Virgin !  Why,  only  half  an  hour 
ago  did  he  not  almost  force  her  to  agree  to  a  meet- 
ing in  the  gallery?  Which  would  be  a  great  piece  of 
madness,  since  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  go 
to  that  part  of  the  house  without  her  absence  being 
noticed  by  Mademoiselle,  or  someone  else,  and  its 
cause  being  discovered.  Good  Heavens!  All  this 
was  terrible,  terrible !  And  to-morrow  she  must  go 
to  the  parlor  at  the  hour  of  the  siesta.  Well,  then, 
she  would  take  a  bold  resolution.  She  would  go, 
yes,  but  she  would  go  to  clear  up  this  misunder- 
standing, to  give  Segundo  some  plain  talk  that 
would  make  him  place  some  restraint  upon  himself; 
that  he  should  love  her,  very  good ;  she  had  no 
objection  to  that,  that  was  well  enough ;  but  to 
compromise  her  in  this  way,  that  was  a  thing  un- 
heard of;  she  would  entreat  him  to  return  to  Vila- 
morta;  they   would  soon   go  to  Madrid.     Ah,  how 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  233 

long  that  blessed  Mademoiselle  delayed  with  the 
lime  tea. 

The  door  opened  to  admit,  not  Mademoiselle,  but 
Don  Victoriano.  There  was  nothing  to  surprise  her 
in  his  appearance ;  he  slept  in  a  sort  of  cabinet  near 
his  wife's  room  and  separated  from  it  by  a  passage- 
way, and  every  night  before  retiring  he  gave  a  kiss  to 
the  child,  whose  bed  was  beside  her  mother's ;  never- 
theless Nieves  felt  a  chill  creep  over  her,  and  she 
instinctively  turned  her  back  to  the  light,  coughing 
to  hide  her  agitation. 

The  truth  was  that  Don  Victoriano  looked  very 
serious,  even  stern.  He  had  not  indeed  been  very 
cheerful  or  communicative  ever  since  his  illness  had 
assumed  a  serious  character;  but  in  addition  to  his 
air  of  dejection  there  was  an  indefinable  something, 
a  darker  gloom  on  his  face  than  usual,- a  cloud  preg- 
nant with  storm.  Nieves,  observing  that  he  did  not 
approach  the  child's  bed,  cast  down  her  eyes  and 
affected  to  be  occupied  in  smoothing  her  hair  with 
the  ivory  comb. 

"How  do  you  feel,  child?  Have  you  recovered 
from  your  fright?"  asked  her  husband. 

"No;    I   am   still   a   little I  have  asked  for 

some  lime  tea." 

"You  did  well.     See,  Nieves " 


234  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

''Well— well?" 

"See,  Nieves,  we  must  go  to  Madrid  at  once." 

"Whenever  you  wish.     You  know  that  I '* 

"No,  the  thing  is  that  it  is  necessary,  indispensa- 
ble. I  must  put  myself  seriously  under  treatment, 
child ;  for  if  things  continue  as  they  are  now  it  will 
soon  be  all  over  with  me.  I  had  the  weakness  to 
put  myself  in  the  hands  of  that  ass,  Don  Fermin. 
God  forgive  me  for  it  I  and  I  fear,"  he  added,  smil- 
ing bitterly,  "that  I  have  made  a  fatal  mistake.  Let 
us  see  if  Sanchez  del  Abrojo  will  get  me  out  of  the 
scrape — I  doubt  it  greatly." 

"Heavens,  how  apprehensive  you  are!"  exclaimed 
Nieves,  breathing  freely  once  m.ore  and  availing  her- 
self of  the  resource  offered  to  her  by  Don  Vic- 
toriano's  illness.  "Anyone  would  think  you  had  an 
incurable  disease.  When  you  are  once  in  Madrid 
and  Sanchez  has  you  under  his  care — in  a  couple  of 
months  you  will  not  even  remember  this  trifling  indis- 
position." 

"Bravo!  child,  bravo!  I  don't  wish  to  hurt  your 
feelings  or  to  seem  unkind,  but  what  you  say  proves 
that  you  neither  look  at  me,  nor  care  a  straw  about 
my  health,  nor  pay  any  attention  to  me  whatever, 
which — forgive  me — is  not  creditable  to  you.  My 
disease  is  a  serious,  a  very  serious  one — it  is  a  dis- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  235 

ease  that  carries  people  off  in  fine  style.  I  am  being 
converted  into  sugar,  my  sight  is  failing,  my  head 
aches,  I  have  no  blood  left,  and  you,  serene  and  gay, 
sporting  about  like  a  child.  A  wife  who  loved  her 
husband  would  not  act  in  this  way.  You  have 
troubled  yourself  neither  about  the  state  of  my  body 
nor  the  state  of  my  mind.  You  are  enjoying  your- 
self, having  a  fine  time,  and  as  for  the  rest — a  great 
deal  it  matters  to  you !" 

Nieves  rose  to  her  feet,  tremulous,  almost  weeping. 

"What  are  you  saying?     I — I — — " 

''Don't  distress  yourself,  child  ;  don't  cry.  You  are 
young  and  well ;  I  am  wasted  and  sickly.  So  much 
the  worse  for  me.  But  listen  to  me.  Although  I 
seem  to  you  dry  and  serious,  I  loved  you  tenderly, 
Nieves,  I  love  you  still,  as  much  as  I  love  that  child 
who  is  sleeping  there,  I  swear  it  to  you  before  God ! 
And  you  rnight — you  might  love  me  a  little — like  a 
daughter — and  take  some  interest  in  me.  The 
trouble  would  not  be  for  long  now — I  feel  so  sick." 

Nieves  drew  near  him  with  an  affectionate  move- 
ment and  he  touched  her  forehead  with  his  parched 
lips,  pressing  her  to  him  at  the  same  time.  Then  he 
added : 

**I  have  still  another  observation  to  make,  another 
sermon  to  preach  to  you,  child." 


236  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"What  is  it?"  murmured  his  wife  smiling,  but  ter- 
rified. 

''That  boy  Garcia — don't  be  alarmed,  child,  there 
is  no  need  for  that — that  boy  looks  at  you  sometimes 
in  a  very  curious  way,  as  if  he  were  making  love  to 
you.  No,  I  am  not  doubting  you.  You  are  and 
you  have  always  been  an  irreproachable  wife — I  am 
not  accusing  you,  nor  do  I  attach  any  importance 
to  such  folLy.  But,  although  you  may  not  believe 
it,  the  young  men  here  are  very  daring;  they  are 
shyer  in  appearance  than  those  of  the  capital,  but 
they  are  bolder  in  reality.  I  spent  my  youthful 
years  here,  and  I  know  them.  I  am  only  putting 
you  on  your  guard  so  that  you  may  keep  that  jacka- 
napes within  bounds.  For  the  rest  of  the  time  we 
are  to  remain  in  this  place,  avoid  those  long  walks 
and  all  those  other  rusticities  which  they  indulge  in 
here.  A  lady  like  you  among  these  people  is  a  sort 
of  queen,  and  it  is  not  proper  that  they  should  take 
the  same  liberties  with  you  as  with  the  Senoritas  de 
Molende  or  others  like  them — but  I  have  already 
told  you  that  such  a  thought  has  not  even  crossed 
my  mind.  It  is  one  thing  that  this  village  Swan 
should  have  fallen  in  love  with  you,  and  have  given 
you  his  hand  to  help  you  over  the  rocks,  and  another 
that  I  should  insult  you,  child !" 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  237 

Shortly  afterward  Mademoiselle  entered  with  the 
steaming  cup  of  tea.  And  greatly  Nieves  needed 
it.  Her  nerves  were  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  ten- 
sion. She  was  on  the  verge  of  a  hysterical  attack. 
She  even  felt  nausea  when  she  took  the  first  few 
spoonfuls.  Mademoiselle  offered  her  some  anti- 
hysterical  drops.  Nieves  drank  the  remedy,  and 
with  a  few  yawns  and  two  or  three  tears  the  attack 
passed  off.  She  thought  she  would  go  ^to  bed,  and 
went  into  her  bedroom.  There  she  saw  something 
which  renewed  her  uneasiness — Victorina,  instead 
of  being  asleep,  lay  with  eyes  wide  open.  She  had 
probably  heard  every  word  of  the  conversation. 


XXII. 

She  had  in  fact  heard  it  all,  from  beginning  to 
end.  And  the  words  of  the  conjugal  dialogue  were 
whirling  around  in  her  brain,  mingling  confusedly  to- 
gether, stamping  themselves  in  characters  of  fire  on 
her  virgin  memory.  She  repeated  them  to  herself, 
she  tried  to  understand  their  meaning,  she  weighed 
them,  she  drew  conclusions  from  them. 

No  one  can  tell  which  is  the  precise  moment  that 
divides  dg-y  from  night,  sleeping  from  waking,  youth 
from  maturity,  and  innocence  from  knowledge. 
Who  can  fix  the  moment  in.  which  the  child,  passing 
into  adolescence,  observes  in  herself  that  undefina- 
ble  something  which  may  perhaps  be  called  con- 
siousness  of  sex,  in  which  vague  presentiment  is 
changed  into  s\A'ift  intuition,  in  which,  without  an 
exact  notion  of  the  realities  of  life,  she  divines  all 
that  experience  will  corroborate  and  accentuate  later 
on,  in  which  she  understands  the  importance  of  a 
sign,  the  significance  of  an  act,  the  character  of  a  re- 
lationship, the  value  of  a  glance,  and  the  meaning  of 

a  reticence.     The  moment  in  which  her  eyes,  hith- 

238 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  239 

erto  open  only  to.  external  life,  acquire  power  to 
scrutinize  the  inner  life  also,  and  losing  their  super- 
ficial brilliancy,  the  clear  reflection  of  her  ingenuous 
purity,  acquire  the  concentrated  and  undefinable  ex- 
pression which  constitutes  the  glance  of  a  grown 
person. 

This  moment  arrived  for  Victorina  at  the  age  of 
eleven,  on  the  night  we  have  mentioned,  overhear- 
ing a  dialogue  between  her  father  and  mother. 
Motionless,  with  bated  breath,  her  feet  cold,  her 
head  burning,  the  child  heard  everything,  and  after- 
ward, in  the  dim  light  of  the  bedroom,  united  broken 
links,  remembering  certain  incidents,  and  at  last 
understood  without  attaching  much  importance  to 
what  she  understood,  reasoning,  however,  with  singu- 
lar precocity,  owing,  perhaps,  to  the  painful  activity 
with  which  imagination  works  in  the  silence  of  night 
and  the  repose  of  the  bed. 

It  is  certain  that  the  child  slept  badly,  tossing 
about  restlessly  in  her  monastic  little  bed.  Two 
ideas,  especially,  seemed  to  pierce  her  brain  like 
nails.  Her  father  was  ill,  very  ill,  and  he  was  an- 
noyed and  displeased,  besides,  because  Segundo  had 
fallen  in  love  with  her  mamma.  With  her  mamma. 
Not  with  her  !  With  her  who  preserved  all  the 
flowers  he  had  given  her  like  relics, 


240  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

The  sorrows  of  childhood  know  neither  Hmit  nor 
consolation.  When  we  are  older  and  more  storms 
have  passed  over  us,  and  we  have  seen  with  astonish- 
ment that  man  can  survive  griefs  which  we  had 
thought  unsurvivable,  and  that  the  heavens  do  not 
fall  because  we  have  lost  what  we  love,  it  may  almost 
be  said  that  absolute  despair,  which  is  the  heritage 
of  childhood,  does  not  exist.  It  Avas  evident  to  Vic- 
torina  that  her  father  was  dying  and  that  her  mother 
was  wicked,  and  Segundo  a  villain,  and  that  the 
world  had  come  to  an  end — and  that  she  too,  she 
too,  desired  to  die.  If  it  were  possible  for  the  hair 
to  turn  white  at  eleven,  Victorina  would  have  be- 
come white  on  the  night  in  which  suffering  changed 
her  from  a  bashful,  timid,  blushing  child  to  a  moral 
being,  capable  of  the  greatest  heroism. 

Nor  did  Nieves  enjoy  the  balmy  sweets  of  slum- 
ber. Her  husband's  words  had  made  her  thought 
ful.  Was  Don  Victoriano's  illness  a  fatal  one?  It 
might  be  so !  He  looked  greatly  altered,  poor  fel- 
low. And  Nieves  felt  a  touch  of  grief  and  appre- 
hension. Why,  who  could  doubt  that  she  loved  her 
husband,  or  that  she  should  regret  his  death?  She 
did  not  feel  for  him  any  passionate  love,  such  as  is 
described  in  novels — but  affection — yes.  Heaven 
grant  the  malady  might  be  a  trifling  one.     And  if  it 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  241 

were  not?    And  if  she  were  to  be  left  a  wi She 

did  not  dare  to  complete  the  word  even  in  her 
thoughts.  To  think  of  such  a  thing  seemed  like  in- 
dulging in  wicked  desires.  No,  but  the  fact  was 
that  women,  when  their  husbands  die,  were — Holy 
Virgin!  It  must  be  a  terrible  grief.  Well,  but  if  it 
happened?  Segundo — Heavens,  what  folly!  Most 
assuredly  such  an  absurdity  had  never  entered  his 
head.  The  Garcias — nobodies.  And  here  a  vivid 
picture  of  all  Segundo's  relations  and  their  manner 
of  living  presented  itself  to  her  mind. 

She  would  willingly  have  absented  herself  from 
the  rendezvous  on  the  following  day,  because  her 
husband  had  begun  to  suspect  something  and  the 
situation  was  a  compromising  one,  although  in  the 
place  designated  for  the  interview  the  meeting  be- 
tween them  might  always  be  attributed  to  chance. 
On  the  other  hand  if  she  failed  to  meet  him,  Segundo, 
who  was  so  enamored,  was  fully  capable  of  creat- 
ing a  scandal,  of  going  to  look  for  her  in  her 
room,  of  forcing  an  entrance  into  it  through  the 
window. 

After  all,  thinking  well  over  the  matter,  she 
judged  it  most  prudent  to  comply  with  her  promise 
and  to  entreat  Segundo  to — forget  her — or  at  least 


242  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

not  to  compromise  her.     That  was  the  best  course 

to  pursue. 

Nieves  passed  the  morning  in  a  state  of  complete 
prostration ;  she  scarcely  tasted  a  morsel  at  break- 
fast and  during  the  meal  she  kept  her  eyes  turned 
away  from  Segundo,  fearing  lest  her  husband  should 
surprise  some  furtive  glance  of  intelligence  between 
them.  To  make  matters  worse,  Segundo,  desirous 
of  reminding  her  with  his  eyes  of  her  promise,  looked 
at  her  on  this  day  oftener  than  usual.  Fortunately 
Don  Victoriano's  attention  seemed  to  be  all  given  to 
satisfying  his  voracious  appetite  for  eating  and  drink- 
ing. The  meal  being  finished  everyone  retired  as 
usual  to  take  the  siesta.  Nieves  went  to  her  room. 
She  found  Victorina  there,  lying  on  the  bed.  For 
greater  precaution  she  asked  her : 

*'Are  you  going  to  sleep  the  siesta,  my  pet?" 
**To  sleep,  no.  But  I  am  comfortable  here." 
Nieves  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass  and  saw  that 
she  was  pale.  She  washed  her  teeth,  and  after  satis- 
fying herself  by  a  rapid  glance  that  her  husband  was 
resting  in  the  other  room,  she  stole  softly  into  the 
parlor.  She  was  trembling.  This  atmosphere  of 
storm  and  danger,  grateful  to  the  sea-fowl,  was  fatal 
to  the  domestic  bird.     It  was  no  life  to  be  always 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  243 

shuddering  with  fear,  her  blood  curdled  by  fright. 
It  was  not  to  live.  It  was  not  to  breathe.  She 
would  end  by  becoming  crazy.  Had  she  not  fancied 
just  now  that  she  heard  steps  behind  her,  as  if  some- 
one were  following  her?  Two  or  three  times  she 
had  stopped  and  leaned,  fainting,  against  the  wall  of 
the  corridor,  vowing  in  her  own  mind  that  she  would 
never  put  herself  in  such  a  dilemma  again. 

When  she  reached   the   parlor  she  stopped,  half 
startled.     It  was  so  silent  and  drowsy  in  the  semi- 
obscurity,    with    the    half-closed     shutters   through 
which    entered    a   single    sunbeam    full    of   dancing 
golden  motes,  with  its  sleepy  mirrors  that  were  too 
lazy  to  reflect  anything  from  their  turbid  surfaces, 
its  drowsy  asthmatic  clock,  whose  face  looked  like  a 
human  countenance  watching  her  and  coughing  dis- 
approvingly.     Suddenly  she  heard  quick,  youthful 
foot-steps    and    Segundo,    audacious,    impassioned, 
threw  himself  at  her  feet  and  clasped  his  arms  around 
her.     She  tried  to  restrain  him,  to  advise  him,  to  ex- 
plain to  him.     The  poet  refused  to  heed  her,  he  con- 
tinued pouring  forth  exclamations  of  gratitude  and 
love  and  then,  rising  to  his  feet,  he  drew  her  toward 
him  with  the  irresistible  force  of  a  passion  which 
does  not  stop  to  consider  consequences. 

When    Don  Victoriano   saw  the    child   enter   his 


244  THE  SU'AX  OF  VILAMORTA. 

room,  white  as  wax,  livid,  almost,  darting  fire  from 
her  eyes,  in  one  of  those  horror-inspired  attitudes 
which  can  neither  be  feigned  nor  imitated,  he  sprang 
from  the  bed  where  he  had  been  lying  awake  smok- 
ing a  cigar.  The  child  said  to  him,  in  a  choking 
voice : 

"Come,  papa!  come,  papa!" 

What  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  her 
father's  mind?  It  was  never  known  why  he  followed 
his  daughter  without  putting  to  her  a  single  ques- 
tion. On  the  threshold  of  the  parlor  father  and 
child  paused.  Nieves  uttered  a  shrill  scream  and 
Segundo,  with  an  impassioned  and  manly  gesture, 
placed  himself  before  her  to  shield  her  with  his 
body.  An  unnecessary  defense.  In  the  figure  of 
the  man  standing  on  the  threshold  there  was  noth- 
ing of  menace ;  what  there  was  in  it  to  inspire  terror 
was  precisely  its  air  of  stupor  and  helplessness ;  it 
seemed  a  corpse,  a  specter  overwhelmed  with  impo- 
tent despair — the  face,  green  rather  than  sallow,  the 
eyes  opened,  dull  and  fixed,  the  hands  and  feet  trem- 
bling. The  man  was  making  fruitless  efforts  to 
speak ;  paralysis  had  begun  with  the  tongue :  he  tried 
in  vain  to  move  it  in  his  mouth,  to  form  sounds. 
Horrible  conflict !  The  words  struggled  for  utter- 
ance but  remained  unuttered  ;  his  face  changed  from 


THE   SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  245 

livid  to  red,  the  blood  becoming  congested  in  it,  and 
the  child,  clasping  her  father  around  the  waist,  see- 
ing this  combat  between  the  spirit  and  the  body, 
cried : 

"Help!  help!     Papa  is  dying!" 

Nieves,  not  daring  to  approach  her  husband,  but 
comprehending  that  something  very  serious  was  the 
matter,  screamed  too  for  help.  And  at  the  various 
doors  appeared  one  after  another  Primo  Genday  and 
Tropiezo  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  and  Mendez  with  a 
cotton  handkerchief  tied  over  his  ears. 

Segundo  stood  silent  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
uncertain  what  course  to  pursue.    To  leave  the  room 

would  be  cowardly,  to  remain Tropiezo  shook 

him. 

"Go,  flying,  to  Vilamorta,  boy!"  he  said.  "Tell 
Doroteo,  the  cabman,  to  go  to  Orense  and  bring 
back  a  doctor  with  him — the  best  he  can  find.  I 
don't  want  to  make  a  trip  this  time,"  he  added  with 
a  wink.     "Run,  hurry  off!" 

The  Swan  approached  Nieves,  who  had  thrown 
herself  on  the  sofa  and  was  w^eeping,  her  face  cov- 
ered with  her  dainty  handkerchief. 

"They  want  me  to  go  for  a  doctor,  Nieves. 
What  shall  I  do?" 

*'Go!" 


24^  THE  SWAM  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"Shall  I  return?" 

"No-^for  God's  sake  leave  me.  Go  bring  the 
doctor!  go  bring  the  doctor!"  And  she  sobbed 
more  violently  than  before. 

In  spite  of  all  Segundo's  haste,  the  physician  did 
not  arrive  in  Las  Vides  until  early  on  the  morning 
of  the  following  day.  He  did  not  think  the  case  an 
unusual  one.  This  disease  often  terminated  in  this 
way,  in  paralysis;  it  was  one  of  the  most  frequent 
complications  of  the  terrible  malady.  He  added 
that  it  would  be  well  to  remove  the  patient  to 
Orense,  taking  suitable  precautions.  The  removal 
was  effected  without  much  difficulty,  and  Don  Vic- 
toriano  lived  for  a  few  days  longer.  Twentj^-four 
hours  after  the  interment  Nieves  and  Victorina, 
attired  in  the  deepest  mourning,  departed  for  the 
capital. 


xxin. 

The  black  pall  of  winter  has  fallen  over  Vilamorta. 
It  is  raining,  and  in  the  wet  and  muddy  main  street 
and  plaza  no  one  is  to  be  seen  but  occasionally  some 
countryman,  riding  enveloped  in  his  grass  cloth  cloak, 
his  horse's  hoofs  clattering  on  the  stone  pavement, 
raising  showers  of  mud.  There  are  now  no  fruit- 
venders  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  is  no  fruit ; 
all  is  deserted,  damp,  muddy,  and  gloomy ;  Cansin,  in 
listing  slippers,  a  comforter  around  his  neck,  walks 
up  and  down  unceasingly  before  his  door,  to  prevent 
chilblains ;  the  Alcalde  avails  himself  of  a  very  nar- 
row arch  in  front  of  his  house  to  pass  away  the  after- 
noon, walking  ten  steps  up  and  ten  steps  down, 
stamping  energetically  to  keep  his  feet  warm — an 
exercise  which  he  afifirms  to  be  indispensable  to  his 
digestion. 

Now  indeed  the  little  town  seems  lifeless  !  There 
are  neither  visitors  to  the  springs  nor  strangers  from 
the  surrounding  country,  neither  fairs  nor  vintages. 
Everywhere  reigns  the  stillness  and  solitude  of  the 

tomb,  and  a  moisture    so  persistent  that   it   covers 

247 


248  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

with  a  minute  green  vegetation  the  stones  of  the 
houses  in  course  of  construction.  These  Httle  towns 
in  winter  are  enough  to  make  the  most  cheerful  per- 
son low-spirited ;  they  are  the  very  acme  of  tedium, 
the  quintessence  of  dullness — the  disinclination  to  ar- 
range one's  hair,  to  change  one's  dress,  the  intermin- 
able evenings,  the  persistent  rain,  the  gloomy  cold, 
the  ashen  atmosphere,  the  leaden  sky! 

In  the  midst  of  this  species  of  lethargy  in  which 
Vilamorta  is  plunged  there  are,  however,  some  happy 
beings,  beings  who  are  now  at  the  summit  of  felicity, 
although  soon  destined  to  end  their  existence  in  the 
most  tragic  manner;  beings  who,  by  their  natural 
instinct  alone,  have  divined  the  philosophy  of  Epi- 
curus and  practice  it,  and  eat,  drink,  and  make  merry, 
and  neither  fear  death  nor  think  of  the  unexplored 
region  which  opens  its  gates  to  the  dying,  beings 
who  receive  the  rain  on  their  smooth  skins  with 
rejoicing,  beings  for  whom  the  mud  is  a  luxurious 
bath  in  which  they  roll  and  wallow  with  delight, 
abandoning  the  discomfort  and  narrowness  of  their 
lairs  and  sties.  They  are  the  indisputable  lords  and 
masters  of  Vilamorta  at  this  season  of  the  year; 
they  who  with  their  pomps  and  exploits  supply  the 
reunions  at  the  apothecary's  with  food  for  conversa- 
tion, and   entertainment   for  familiar  gatherings  in 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  249 

which  their  respective  sizes  are  discussed  and  they 
are  studied  from  the  point  of  view  of  their  personal 
quahties,  heated  discussions  taking  place  as  to 
whether  the  short  or  the  long  ear,  the  curly  tail,  the 
hoof  more  or  less  curved  upward,  and  the  snout  more 
or  less  pointed,  augur  the  more  succulent  flesh  and 
the  more  abundant  fat.  Comparisons  are  made. 
Pellejo's  hog  is  superb  as  far  as  size  is  concerned,  but 
its  flesh,  of  an  erysipelatous  rosy  hue,  and  its  im- 
mense flabby  belly,  betray  the  hog  of  relaxed  mus- 
cle, nourished  on  bakehouse  refuse;  a  magnificent 
swine,  that  of  the  Alcalde,  which  has  been  fed  on 
chestnuts,  not  so  large  as  the  other,  but  what  hams 
it  will  make !  What  hams !  And  what  bacon ! 
And  what  a  back,  broad  enough  to  ride  upon  !  This 
will  be  the  swine  of  the  season.  There  are  not  want- 
ing those  who  affirm,  however,  that  the  queen  of  the 
swine  of  Vilamorta  is  the  pig  of  Aunt  Gaspara, 
Garcia's  pig.  The  haunches  of  this  magnificent 
animal  look  like  a  highroad  ;  it  once  came  near  being 
suffocated  by  its  own  fat ;  its  teats  touch  its  hoofs  and 
kiss  the  mud  of  the  road.  Who  can  calculate  how 
many  pounds  of  lard  it  will  yield,  and  the  black  pud- 
dings it  will  fill  with  its  blood,  and  the  sausages  that 
its  intestines  will  make? 

It  stops  raining  for  a  week;  the  cold  grows  more 


250  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

intense,  frost  falls,  whitening  the  grass  of  the  paths 
and  hardening  the  ground.  This  is  the  signal  for  the 
hecatomb,  for  which  the  auspices  are  now  favorable, 
for,  in  addition  to  the  cold,  the  moon  is  in  her  last 
quarter;  if  she  were  on  the  wane  the  flesh  would 
spoil.  The  hour  has  come  for  wielding  the  knife. 
And  through  the  long  nights  of  Vilamorta  resound 
at  the  most  unexpected  moments  desperate  grunts 
— first  grunts  of  fury,  that  express  the  impotent  rage 
of  the  victim  at  finding  himself  bound  to  the  bench, 
and  reveal  in  the  degenerate  domestic  pig  the  de- 
scendant of  the  wild  mountain  boar;  then  of  pain, 
when  the  knife  penetrates  the  flesh,  an  almost  human 
cry  when  its  blade  pierces  the  heart,  and  at  last  a 
series  of  despairing  groans  which  grow  fainter  and 
fainter  as  life  and  strength  escape  with  the  warm 
stream  of  blood. 

This  bloodcurdling  drama  was  being  enacted  in 
the  house  of  the  lawyer  Garcia  at  eleven  o'clock  on 
a  clear  frosty  December  night.  The  girls,  wild  with 
delight,  and  dying  with  curiosity,  crowded  around 
the  expiring  pig,  in  whose  heart  and  throat  the 
butcher,  with  rolled  up  sleeves  and  bare  arms,  was 
about  to  plunge  the  knife.  Segundo,  shut  up  in  his 
bedroom,  had  before  him  some  sheets  of  paper,  more 
or  less  covered  with  scrawls.     He  was  writing  verses. 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  251 

But  as  the  sounds  of  the  tragedy  reached  him,  he 
dropped  his  pen  with  dismay.  He  had  inherited 
from  his  mother  a  profound  horror  of  the  spectacle 
of  the  kilhng ;  it  usually  cost  his  mother  ten  or  twelve 
days  of  suffering,  during  which  she  was  unable  to 
eat  food,  sickened  by  the  sight  of  the  blood,  the 
intestines  and  the  viscera,  so  like  human  intestines 
and  human  viscera,  the  greasy  flitches  of  bacon 
hanging  from  the  roof,  and  the  strong  and  stimulat- 
ing odor  of  the  black  pudding  and  spices.  Segundo 
abhorred  even  the  name  of  pig,  and  in  the  morbid 
condition  of  his  mind,  in  the  nervous  excitement 
which  consumed  him,  it  was  an  indescribable  martyr- 
dom to  be  unable  to  set  his  foot  outside  the  door 
without  stumbling  against  and  entangling  himself 
among  the  accursed  and  repulsive  animals,  or  seeing, 
through  the  half-open  doors,  portions  of  their  bodies 
hanging  on  hooks.  All  Vilamorta  smelled  of  pig- 
killing,  of  warm  entrails ;  Segundo  did  not  know  at 
last  where  to  hide  himself,  and  intrenched  himself  in 
his  own  room,  closing  the  doors  and  windows  tightly, 
secluding  himself  from  the  external  world  in  order 
to  live  with  his  dreams  and  fancies  in  a  realm  where 
there  were  no  hogs,  and  where  only  pine  groves,  blue 
flowers  and  precipices  existed.  Insufficient  precau- 
tion to  free  himself  from  the  torture  of  that  brutal 


252  THE  SWAN  OF  J'lLAMORTA. 

epoch  of  the  year,  since  here  in  his  own  house  he  was 
besieged  by  the  drama  of  gluttony  and  realism. 
The  poet  seized  his  hat  and  hurried  out  of  the  room. 
He  must  flee  where  these  grunts  could  not  pene- 
trate, where  those  smells  should  not  surround  him. 
He  walked  along  the  hall,  closing  his  eyes  in  order 
not  to  see,  b}^  the  light  of  the  candle  which  one  of 
the  children  was  holding,  Aunt  Gaspara  with  her 
skeleton-like  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow,  stirring  a  red 
and  frothing  liquid  in  a  large  earthern  pan.  When 
they  saw  Segundo  leaving  the  house  the  sisters  burst 
into  shouts  of  laughter,  and  called  to  him,  offering 
him  grotesque  delicacies,  ignoble  spoils  of  the  dying. 

Leocadia  had  not  retired ;  she  felt  ill  and  she  was 
dozing  in  a  chair,  wrapped  in  a  shawl  and  shivering 
with  cold ;  she  opened  the  door  quickly  to  Segundo, 
asking  him  in  alarm  if  anything  had  happened.  Noth- 
ing, indeed.  They  were  killing  the  pig  at  home — a 
Toledan  night ;  they  would  not  let  him  sleep.  Be- 
sides, the  night  was  so  cold — he  felt  somewhat  indis- 
posed— as  if  he  had  a  chill.  Would  she  make  him  a 
cup  of  coffee,  or  better  still,  a  rum  punch? 

"Both,  my  heart,  this  very  instant !" 

Leocadia  recovered  her  spirits  and  her  energy  as 
if  by  enchantment.  Soon  there  rose  from  the  punch- 
bowl the  sapphire  flame  of  the  punch.     In  its  glare 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  253 

the  schoolmistress's  face  seemed  very  thin.  It  had 
lost  its  former  healthy  color,  a  warm  brown  like  that 
of  the  crust  of  a  well-baked  loaf.  The  pangs  of  dis- 
appointed love  were  revealed  in  the  pallor  of  her 
cheeks,  in  the  feverish  brightness  of  her  eyes,  the 
purplish  hue  of  her  lips.  Grief  had  given  her  prosaic 
features  an  almost  poetic  stamp;  as  she  had  grown 
thinner  her  eyes  looked  larger ;  she  was  not  now  the 
robust  woman,  with  firm  flesh  and  fresh-colored  lips, 
who,  pitted  though  she  was  by  the  smallpox,  could 
still  draw  a  coarse  compliment  from  the  tavern- 
keeper;  the  fire  of  an  imperious,  uncontrollable,  and 
exacting  passion  was  consuming  her  inwardly — the 
love  which  comes  late  in  life,  that  devouring  love 
which  reason  cannot  conquer,  nor  time  uproot,  nor 
circumstances  change,  which  fixes  its  talons  in  the 
vitals  and  releases  its  prey  only  when  it  has  de- 
stroyed it. 

And  this  love  was  of  so  singular  a  nature  that, — 
insatiable,  volcanic,  desperate,  as  it  was, — far  from 
dictating  acts  of  violence  to  Leocadia  and  drawing 
from  her  furious  reproaches,  it  inspired  her  with  a 
self-abnegation  and  a  generosity  without  limits,  ban- 
ishing from  her  mind  every  thought  of  self. 

The  summer,  the  vintage  season,  the  whole  period 


254  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

during  which  she  had  scarcely  seen  Segundo,  when 
she  kneu'  he  had  not  given  her  a  passing  thought, 
that  he  was  devoting  himself  to  another  woman,  had 
been  horrible  for  her;  and  yet  not  a  jealous  word, 
not  a  complaint  had  crossed  her  lips,  nor  did  she 
once  regret  having  given  Segundo  the  money;  and 
when  she  saw  the  poet,  her  joy  was  so  genuine,  so 
profound,  that  it  effaced,  as  if  by  magic,  the  remem- 
brance of  her  sufferings  and  repaid  her  for  them  a 
hundredfold. 

Now  there  was  an  additional  reason  why  she 
should  lavish  her  affection  upon  the  poet.  He  too 
was  suffering,  he  was  ill.  What  was  the  matter  with 
him?  He  himself  did  not  know:  hypochondria,  the 
grief  of  separation,  spleen,  the  impatient  disgust 
produced  by  the  contrast  of  his  mean  surroundings 
with  the  dreams  that  filled  his  imagination.  A  con- 
stant inappetency,  depression  of  spirits,  an  uneasy 
sensation  in  the  stomach,  nerves  on  the  stretch,  like 
the  strings  of  a  guitar.  And  his  love  for  Nieves  was 
not  like  Leocadia's  love,  one  of  those  passions  that  ab- 
sorb the  whole  being,  affect  the  heart,  attenuate  the 
flesh,  and  subjugate  the  soul.  Nieves  lived  only  in 
his  imagination,  in  his  vanity,  in  his  lyrics,  in  his 
romantic  reveries,    those   eternal  inspirers  of   love. 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  255 

Nieves  was  the  visible  incarnation,  in  beautiful  and 
alluring  form,  of  his  longings  for  fame,  his  literary 
ambition.  * 

Leocadia  had  served  the  punch  and  was  pouring 
out  the  coffee  when,  her  hand  trembling  with  pleas- 
ure and  emotion,  she  spilled  some  of  the  hot  liquid, 
scalding  herself  slightly ;  she  took  no  notice  of  the 
burn,  however,  but  went  on,  with  the  same  solicitude 
as  always,  to  minister  to  Segundo's  comfort.  Think- 
ing to  please  and  interest  the  poet  she  asked  him  for 
news  of  the  volume  of  poems  which  he  had  in  hand, 
and  which  was  to  spread  his  fame  far  beyond  Vila- 
morta,  so  soon '  as  it  should  be  published  in  Orense. 
Segundo  did  not  show  much  enthusiasm  at  this 
prospect. 

"In   Orense,"  he   said,  "in    Orense Do  you 

know  that  I  have  changed  my  mind?  Either  I  shall 
publish  it  in  Madrid  or  I  shall  not  publish  it  at  all. 
The  loss  to  Spanish  literature  would  not  be  so  very 
great." 

"And  why  don't  you  want  to  publish  it  now  in 
Orense?" 

'T  will  tell  you.  Roberto  Blanquez  is  right  in  the 
advice  he  gives  me  in  a  letter  he  has  just  written  me 
from  Madrid.  You  know  that  Roberto  is  in  a  situa- 
tion there.     He  says  that  no  one  reads   books  pub- 


256  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

lished  in  the  provinces ;  that  he  has  noticed  the  con- 
tempt with  which  books  that  do  not  bear  the  im- 
print of  some  pubHshing  house  of  the  capital  are 
looked  upon  there.  And  besides,  that  they  delay 
a  century  here  in  printing  a  volume,  and  when  it  is 
printed  it  is  full  of  errors,  and  unattractive  in  ap- 
pearance— in  short,  that  they  do  not  take.  And 
therefore " 

"Well,  then,  let  the  book  be  published  in  Madrid. 
How  much  would  it  cost?" 

"Child,  the  prices  Roberto  tells  me  are  enough  to 
frighten  one.  It  seems  that  the  affair  would  cost  a 
fortune.  No  publisher  will  buy  verses  or  even 
share  with  the  author  the  expense  of  publishing 
them." 

Leocadia  answered  only  by  a  smile.  The  little 
parlor  had  a  look  of  homelike  comfort.  Although 
winter  had  despoiled  the  balcony  of  its  charms,  turn- 
ing the  sweet  basil  yellow  and  withering  the  carna- 
tions, within,  the  hissing  of  the  coffee-pot,  the  alco- 
holic vapor  of  the  punch,  the  quietude,  the  solicitous 
affection  of  the  schoolmistress,  all  seemed  to  temper 
and  soften  the  atmosphere.  Segundo  felt  a  pleasant 
drowsiness  stealing  over  him. 

"Will  you  give  me  a  blanket  from  your  bed?"  he 
said  to  the  schoolmistress.     "There  is  not  a  spot  at 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA,  257 

home  where  I  could  rest  to-night.  I  might  sleep  a 
little  on  the  sofa  here." 

"You  will  be  cold." 

"I  shall  be  in  heaven.     Go." 

Leocadia  left  the  room,  and  returned  dragging  in 
with  her  an  unwieldy  bulk — a  mattress;  then  she 
brought  a  blanket ;  then,  pillows.  Total,  a  com- 
plete bed.  For  all  that  was  wanting — only  the 
sheets — she  brought  them  also. 


XXIV. 

Leocadia  did  not  vacillate  on  the  following  day. 
She  knew  the  way  and  she  went  straight  to  the  law- 
yer's house.  The  latter  received  her  with  a  frown- 
ing brow.  Did  people  think  he  was  coining  money? 
Leocadia  had  now  no  land  to  sell ;  what  she  brought 
was  of  trifling  value.  If  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
mortgage  the  house  he  would  speak  to  his  brother- 
in-law  Clodio,  who  had  some  money  saved,  and  who 
would  like  to  have  some  such  piece  of  property. 
Leocadia  breathed  a  sigh  of  regret,  it  was  not  with 
her  as  v/ith  the  peasantry — she  had  no  attach- 
ment to  land,  but  the  house  I  So  neat,  so  pretty, 
so  comfortable,  arranged  according  to  her  own 
taste ! 

"Pshaw,  by  paying  the  amount  of  the  mortgage 
you  can  have  it  back  the  moment  you  wish." 

So  it  was  settled.  Clodio  handed  out  the  money, 
tempted  by  the  hope  of  obtaining,  at  half  its  value, 
so  cozy  a  nest  in  which  to  end  his  bachelor  exist- 
ence. In  the  evening  Leocadia  asked  Segundo  to 
show  her  the  manuscript  of  his  poems  and  to  read 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  259 

some  of  them  to  her.  Frequent  mention  was  made 
in  them,  with  reticences  and  transparent  allusions,  of 
certain  blue  flowers,  of  the  murmur  of  a  pine  wood, 
of  a  precipice,  and  of  various  other  things  which 
Leocadia  knew  well  were  not  inventions,  but  had 
their  explanation  in  past,  and  to  her  unknown, 
events.  Th'e  schoolmistress  divined  a  love  story 
whose  heroine  could  be  no  one  but  Nieves  Mendez. 
But  what  she  could  not  understand,  what  she  could 
not  explain,  was  how  Senora  de  Comba,  now  a 
widow,  and  free  to  reward  Segundo's  love,  did  not 
do  so  immediately.  The  verses  breathed  profound 
despondency,  ardent  passion,  and  intense  bitterness. 
Now  Leocadia  understood  Segundo's  sadness,  his 
dejection,  his  mental  anguish.  How  much  he  must 
suffer  in  secret !  Poets,  by  their  nature,  must  suffer 
more  and  cruder  tortures  than  the  rest  of  humanity. 
There  was  not  a  doubt  of  it — this  separation,  these 
memories  were  killing  Segundo  slowly.  Leocadid 
hesitated  how  to  begin  the  conversation. 

"See,  listen.  Those  verses  are  beautiful  and  de- 
serve to  be  printed  in  letters  of  gold.  It  just  hap- 
pens, child,  that  I  received  some  money  a  few  days 
ago  from  Orense.  Do  you  know  what  I  was  think- 
ing of  the  other  night  while  you  were  asleep  in  the 
little   bed  I  arranged  for  you?     That   it   would  be 


26o  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

better  for  you  to  go  yourself  to  publish  them — yon-^ 
der — to  Madrid." 

To  her  great  surprise  she  saw  that  Segundo's  face 
clouded.  To  go  to  Madrid  now !  Impossible ;  he 
must  first '  lea;  n  something  of  Nieves.  The  last 
tragic  scene  of  his  love  affair,  the  denouement  of  her 
sudden  widowhood,  raised  between  them  a  barrier 
difficult  to  pass.  Nieves  was  rich,  and  if  Segundo 
should  go  to  her  now  and  throw  himself  at  her  feet, 
he  would  not  be  the  lover  asking  her  to  requite  his 
love,  but  the  suitor  to  her  hand,  alleging  anterior 
rights  and  basing  on  them  his  aspirations  to  replace 
her  defunct  husband.  And  Segundo,  who  had  ac- 
cepted money  from  Leocadia,  felt  his  pride  rebel  at 
the  thought  that  Nieves  might  take  him  for  a  for- 
tune-hunter, or  might  scorn  him  for  his  obscurity 
and  his  poverty.  But  did  not  Nieves  love  him? 
Had  she  not  told  him  so?  Why,  then,  did  she  not 
send  him  some  message.  True,  he  had  made  no 
attempt  to  communicate  with  the  beautiful  widow, 
or  to  refresh  her  memory.  He  feared  to  do  it  awk- 
wardly, inopportunely,  and  so  reopen  the  wound 
caused  by  the  death  of  her  husband. 

The  volume  of  verses — an  excellent  idea!  The 
volume  of  verses  was  the  one  means  of  recovering 
his  place  in  Nieves'  recollection  worthily,  borne  on 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  261 

the  wings  of  popular  applause.  If  this  volume  were 
read,  admired,  praised,  it  would  win  fame  for  its 
author;  the  difference  between  his  own  and  Nieves* 
social  position,  which  might  now  make  his  preten- 
sions appear  ridiculous,  would  disappear.  "To 
marry  !"  said  Segundo  to  himself.  Marriage  seemed 
to  him  a  secondary  matter.  Let  Nieves  only  love 
him.  It  was  love  he  asked,  not  marriage.  Sitting 
at  Leocadia's  very  table  he  wrote  to  Blanquez,  giving 
him  instructions,  and  prepared  the  manuscript  to 
post  it,  and  made  out  the  index  and  the  title-page 
with  the  impatient  joy  of  one  who,  expecting  to  win  a 
fortune,  buys  a  ticket  in  the  lottery.  When  he  was 
gone  Leocadia  remained  sunk  in  thought.  Segundo 
had  no  desire  to  go  to  Madrid.  Then  the  gleam  of 
happiness  that  flashed  across  her  mind  at  the  thought 
that  Segundo  should  establish  himself  in  Vilamorta 
was  quenched  by  two  considerations — one  was  that 
Segundo  would  die  of  tedium  here ;  the  other  that 
she  could  not  long  continue  to  supply  his  wants.  In 
mortgaging  the  house  she  had  burned  her  last  car- 
tridge. What  should  she  mortgage  now — herself? 
And  she  smiled  sadly.  In  the  hall  resounded  the 
steps  of  the  neglected  little  cripple,  on  his  way  to 
bed,  where  Flores  would  soon  lull  him  to  sleep  with 
her  solecisms  and   barbarous  litanies.     The  mother 


262  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

sighed.  And  this  being,  this  being  who  had  no  sup- 
port but  her — what  should  he  Hve  on?  When  ruin 
had  overtaken  her,  and  she  could  no  longer  give  him 
food  or  shelter,  what  a  mute  and  continual  reproach 
would  the  presence  of  the  unhappy  child  be  to  her! 
And  how  could  she  set  him  to  work? 

To  work!  This  word  brought  to  her  mind  the 
plans  she  had  matured  in  those  hours  of  sleepless- 
ness and  despair  in  which  all  the  past  is  retraced  in 
thought  and  new  plans  are  formed  for  the  future 
and  every  possible  course  of  action  is  deliberated 
upon.  It  was  plain  that  Minguitos  was  unfitted  for 
the  material  labor  of  cultivating  the  ground,  or  for 
making  shoes,  or  grinding  chocolate,  like  that  good- 
looking  Ramon  ;  but  he  knew  how  to  read  and  write 
and  in  arithmetic,  with  a  little  help  from  Leocadia, 
he  would  be  a  prodigy.  To  sit  behind  a  counter 
kills  nobody ;  to  attend  to  a  customer,  tb  answer  his 
questions,  take  the  money,  enter  down  what  is  sold, 
are  rather  entertaining  occupations  that  cheer  the 
mind  than  fatiguing  labors.  In  this  way  the  little 
hunchback  would  be  amused  and  would  lose  a  little 
of  his  terror  of  strangers,  his  morbid  fear  of  being 
laughed  at. 

A  few  years  before  if  anyone  had  proposed  to  Le- 
ocadia to  separate  her  from  her  child,  to  deprive  him 


7'HE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  26 


o 


of  the  shelter  of  her  loving  arms,  she  would  have 
insulted  him.  Now  it  seemed  to  her  so  easy  and 
natural  a  solution  of  the  question  to  make  him  a 
clerk  in  a  shop.  Something,  nevertheless,  still 
thrilled  in  the  depths  of  her  mother's  heart,  some 
fibers  still  closely  attached  to  the  soul,  that  bled, 
that  hurt.  She  must  tear  them  away  quickly.  It 
was  all  for  the  good  of  the  child,  to  make  a  man  of 

him,  so  that  to-day  or  to-morrow 

Leocadia  held  two  or  three  consultations  with 
Can  sin,  who  had  a  cousin  in  Orense,  the  proprie- 
tor of  a  cloth  shop ;  and  Cansin,  dilating  upon  his 
influence  with  him,  and  the  importance  of  the  favor, 
gave  the  schoolmistress  a  warm  letter  of  recom- 
mendation to  him.  Leocadia  went  to  the  city,  saw 
the  shopkeeper,  and  the  conditions  on  which  he 
agreed  to  receive  Minguitos  were  agreed  upon.  The 
boy  would  be  fed  and  lodged,  his  clothes  washed, 
and  he  would  receive  an  occasional  suit,  made  from 
the  remnants  of  cloth  left  over  in  the  shop.  As  to 
pay,  he  would  be  paid  nothing  until  he  should  have 
acquired  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  business — for 
a  couple  of  years  or  so.  And  was  he  very  much 
deformed?  Because  that  would  not  be  very  pleas- 
ant for  the  customers.     And  was   he  honest?     He 


264  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

had   never  taken   any   money   out  of   his   mother's 
drawer,  had  he? 

Leocadia  returned  home  with  her  soul  steeped  in 
gall.  How  should  she  tell  Minguitos  and  Flores? 
Especially  Flores!  Impossible,  impossible  —  she 
would  create  a  scandal  that  would  alarm  the  neigh- 
borhood. And  she  had  promised  to  take  Minguitos 
without  fail  on  the  following  Monday !  A  stratagem 
occurred  to  her.  She  said  that  a  relative  of  hers 
lived  in  Orense  and  that  she  wished  to  take  the  child 
there  to  make  his  acquaintance.  She  depicted  the 
journey  in  glowing  colors,  so  that  Minguitos  might 
think  he  was  going  on  a  pleasure  trip.  Did  he  not 
want  to  see  Orense  again?  It  was  a  magnificent 
town.  She  would  show  him  the  hot  springs,  the 
Cathedral.  The  child,  with  an  instinctive  horror  of 
public  places,  of  coming  in  contact  with  strangers, 
sorrowfully  shook  his  head ;  and  as  for  the  old  ser- 
vant, as  if  she  divined  what  was  going  on,  she  raged 
and  stormed  all  the  week.  When  Sunday  came  and 
mother  and  son  were  about  to  take  their  departure 
in  the  stage-coach  Flores  threw  her  arms  around  the 
neck  of  the  boy  as  he  was  mounting  the  step,  and 
embraced  him  with  the  tremulous  and  doting  fond- 
ness of  a  grandmother,  covering  his  face  with  kisses, 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  265 

and  moistening  it  with  the  saliva  on  her  withered 
hps.  She  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  sitting  in  the 
doorway,  muttering  words  of  rage,  or  of  tender  pity, 
her  forehead  pressed  between  her  hands  in  an  atti- 
tude of  despair. 

Leocadia,  once  they  were  in  the  diligence,  tried  to 
convince  the  boy  that  the  change  was  for  his  good ; 
describing  to  him  the  pleasant  life  that  awaited  him 
in  that  fine  shop  situated  in  the  most  central  part  of 
Orense,  which  was  so  lively,  where  he  would  have 
very  little  to  do,  and  where  he  had  the  hope  of  earn- 
ing, if  not  to-day,  to-morrow,  a  little  money  for  him- 
self. At  her  first  words  the  boy  fixed  on  his  mother 
his  astonished  eyes,  in  which  a  look  of  intelligence 
gradually  began  to  dawn.  Minguitos  was  quick 
of  comprehension.  '  He  drew  up  close  to  his 
mother,  and  laid  his  head  down  on  her  lap  without 
speaking. 

As  he  continued  silent,  Leocadia  said  to  him : 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?  Does  5^our  head 
ache?" 

"No ;  let  me  sleep  so — for  a  little — until  we  reach 
Orense." 

And  thus  he  remained,  quiet  and  silent,  lulled  to 
sleep,  apparently,  by  the  creaking  of  the  diligence 
and  the  deafening  noise  of  the  windows  rattling  in 


^(id  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

their  sashes.  When  they  reached  the  city  Leocadia 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  saying: 

"We  have  arrived." 

They  aHghted  from  the  stagecoach  and  then  only 
did  Leocadia  observe  that  her  lap  was  moist  and 
that,  on  the  spot  where  the  boy  had  rested  his  fore- 
head, sparkled  two  or  three  crystal  drops.  But  on 
finding  himself  among  strangers,  in  the  gloomy 
shop  crowded  with  rolls  of  dark  cloth,  the  hunch- 
back's attitude  ceased  to  be  resigned ;  he  caught 
hold  of  his  mother's  skirt  with  a  despairing  impulse, 
uttering  a  single  cry  in  which  were  concentrated  all 
his  reproaches,  all  his  affection : 

"  M-a-a-a-m-m-a — m-a-a-a-m-m-a !" 

This  cry  still  resounded  through  Leocadia's  heart 
when,  on  her  arrival  at  Vilamorta,  she  saw  Flores 
lying  in  wait  for  her  in  the  doorway.  Lying  in  wait 
is  the  exact  expression,  for  Flores  threw  herself  upon 
her,  the  moment  she  appeared,  like  a  bulldog,  like  a 
wild  animal  asking  for  and  demanding  her  young. 
And  as  a  man  in  a  fit  of  rage  throws  at  his  adver- 
sary whatever  he  finds  nearest  his  hand  so  Flores 
heaped  on  Leocadia  every  species  of  insult,  all 
sorts  of  injurious  and  opprobrious  epithets,  crying, 
in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  rage  and  hatred : 


THE   SWAN  OF   VILAMORTA.  267 

"Thief,  thief,  wretch !  What  have  you  done  with 
your  child,  thief?  Go,  drunkard,  vagabond,  go  drink 
your  liqueurs — and  your  child,  perhaps,  dying  of 
hunger!  Reprobate,  wolf,  traitress,  where  is  the 
child?  Where  is  the  little  angel?  Where  have  you 
hidden  him,  schemer?  In  such  a  hurry  you  were  to 
get  rid  of  him  so  as  to  be  left  alone  with  your 
trumpery  young  gentleman !  Wolf,  wolf — if  I  had 
a  gun,  as  sure  as  I  am  standing  here,  I  would  send  a 
charge  of  shot  into  you  !" 

Leocadia,  her  face  pale,  her  eyes  red  with  weep- 
ing, put  out  her  hand  to  stop  the  mouth  of  the  fren- 
zied old  woman  ;  but  the  latter  caught  her  fingers 
between  her  toothless  gums,  biting  them  and  slav- 
ering them  with  the  foam  of  her  fury,  and  when  the 
schoolmistress  went  upstairs,  the  old  woman  fol- 
lowed her,  crying  after  her  in  hoarse  and  sinister 
accents : 

"You  will  never  have  the  grace  of  God,  wolf — God 
and  the  Holy  Virgin  will  punish  you !  Go,  go, 
rejoice  now  because  you  have  carried  out  your  evil 
designs  I  May  you  be  forever  accursed,  accursed, 
accursed!" 

The  malediction  made  Leocadia  shudder.  The 
house,  with  Minguitos  away,  seemed  like  a  tomb. 


268  THE  SWAN  OF  VJLAMORTA. 

Flores  had  neither  made  the  dinner  nor  lighted  the 
lamp.  Leocadia,  too  sick  at  heart  to  do  either, 
threw  herself  on  the  bed,  dressed  as  she  was,  and, 
later  on,  undressed  herself  and  went  to  bed  without 
tasting  a  morsel  of  food. 


XXV. 

With  what  interest  did  Segundo  read  the  letters 
of  Roberto  Blanquez  giving  him  news  of  his  book. 
Roberto  was  a  few  years  older  than  the  Swan ;  the 
difference  in  their  ages  was  not  so  great  as  to  prevent 
their  having  been  very  good  friends  when  they  were  at 
college  together,  though  it  was  great  enough  to  have 
given  Blanquez  so  much  more  experience  than  the 
poet  as  to  enable  him  to  serve  as  his  guide  and  men- 
tor. Blanquez,  too,  had  had  his  poetic  epoch,  when  he 
had  written  Galician  verses ;  he  now  devoted  himself 
to  the  prose  of  a  modest  clerkship,  and  wrote  official 
articles.  Madrid  was  enlightening  him,  and,  with  the 
natural  penetration  of  one  in  whose  veins  flowed  Gali- 
cian blood,  he  was  gradually  acquiring  a  knowledge  of 
practical  life.  He  entertained  for  Segundo  a  fanatic 
admiration  and  a  sincere  attachment,  one  qf  those 
college  attachments  which  last  a  lifetime.  Segundo 
Avrote  to  him  with  entire  confidence — some  cousins  of 
Blanquez  were  acquainted  with  the  mother  of  Nieves 
Mendez,  and  through  this  channel  Segundo  occa- 
sionally received  tidings  of  his  lady-love.     Blanquez 

269 


^70  THE  SIVAN  OF  VILAMOKTA. 

was  not  ignorant  of  the  episodes  of  the  summer. 
And  in  the  beginning  his  news  was  very  satisfactory  : 
"Nieves  lives  in  the  greatest  retirement — my  cousins 
have  given  me  news  of  her.  She  scarcely  ever  leaves 
the  house  except  to  go  to  mass.  The  child  is  not 
well.  The  physicians  say  it  is  the  age.  They  are 
going  to  send  her  to  a  convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart 
to  be  educated.  They  say  the  mother  looks  superb, 
my  boy.  It  seems  they  have  been  left  very  well  off. 
The  book  will  soon  appear  now.  Yesterday  I  chose 
the  paper  for  the  edition  and  the  linen  paper  for  the 
hundred  copies  de  luxe.  The  type  will  be  Elzevir, 
which  is  at  present  the  most  fashionable.  The  title- 
page — they  make  them  beautiful  now,  in  six  colors 
■ — would  you  like  it  to  represent  something  fanciful, 
something  allegorical?"  In  this  style  were  Roberto's 
letters,  source  of  illusions  for  Segundo,  sole  food  for 
his  imagination  through  all  that  long  and  gloomy 
winter,  in  that  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  world, 
in  the  midst  of  his  prosaic  domestic  surroundings, 
his  mind  filled  with  the  recollections  of  his  unhappy 
passion. 

March  had  arrived,  that  uncertain  month  of  sun- 
shine and  showers  which  heralds  in  the  spring  with 
affluence  of  violets  and  primiroses,  when  the  cold 
begins   to  lessen,  and   in   the    pale    blue  sky  white 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  271 

clouds  float  like  streamers,  when  Segundo  received 
that  most  precious  of  all  objects,  that  object  the 
sight  of  which  makes  the  heart  palpitate  with  joy 
and  longing,  mingled  with  an  undefinable  fear 
resembling,  somewhat,  the  feeling  with  which  the 
new-made  father  regards  his  first-born — his  first 
printed  book.  It  seemed  to  him  a  dream  that  the 
book  should  be  there,  before  his  eyes,  in  his  hands, 
with  the  satin-smooth  white  cover  on  which  the 
artist  had  gracefully  twined  around  a  group  of  pine 
trees  a  few  sprays  of  forget-me-nots;  with  its  pea- 
green  paper,  that  gave  it  an  antique  air,  the  compo- 
sitions headed  by  three  mysterious  asterisks.  Look- 
ing at  his  verses  thus,  free  from  blots,  finished  and 
correct,  the  thought  standing  out  clearly  in  distinct 
black  characters  on  the  delicately  tinted  page,  he 
almost  felt  as  if  they  had  issued  from  his  brain  just 
as  they  were,  smoothly  flowing  and  with  perfect 
rhymes,  without  corrections  or  unmeaning  syllables 
put  in  to  fill  out  the  meter. 

Leocadia  was  eveij  more  moved  by  the  s^ht  of 
the  book  than  its  author  had  been.  She  shed  tears 
of  joy.  The  fame  of  the  poet  was,  in  a  sense,  her 
work !  For  two  or  three  days  she  was  happy,  for- 
getting the  bad  news  which  Flores  brought  her 
every   Sunday    from    Orense ;    from   Orensc,   where 


272  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

Leocadia  did  not  dare  to  go  herself,  fearing  to  yield 
to  the  entreaties  and  melt  before  the  prayers  of  the 
child,  but  where  palpitated  those  fibers  of  her  heart 
which  still  bled,  and  which  Flores  wrung  with  tor- 
ture by  her  account  of  the  sufferings  of  Minguitos, 
who  declined  visibly  in  health,  and  who  always  com- 
plained that  they  made  sport  of  him  in  the  shop  and 
cast  up  his  deformity  to  him. 

Unsolvable  mysteries  of  the  human  heart ! 
Segundo,  who  despised  his  native  place,  who  be- 
lieved— nor  was  he  mistaken — that  there  was  not  in 
Vilamorta  a  single  person  capable  of  judging  of  the 
merits  of  a  poem,  could  not  refrain  from  going  one 
evening  to  Saturnino  Agonde's  and  drawing  care- 
lessly the  volume  from  his  pocket,  throwing  it  on 
the  counter  and  saying  with  affe'cted  indifference : 
"What  do  you  think  of  that  book,  my  boy?" 
On  the  instant  he  repented  of  his  weakness,  so 
many  were  the  nonsensical  remarks  and  absurd  jokes 
with  which  the  beautiful  volume  inspired  the  irrev- 
erent assemblage.  He  wished. he  had  never  shown 
it.  He  had  drawn  all  this  upon  himself.  If  the 
public  did  not  treat  him  better  than  his  fellow-towns- 
men !  Man  can  never  isolate  himself  completely 
from  his  surroundings — the  circle  in  which  he  moves 
must  always  have  an   interest    for   him.     However 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  273 

little  importance  Segundo  might  attach  to  the  opin- 
ions of  the  Vilamortans,  and  although  their  appro- 
bation would  assuredly  not  have  raised  him  in  his 
own  estimation,  their  stupid  mockery  wounded  and 
embittered  his  soul.  He  went  home  hurt  and 
pained.  He  spent  a  feverish  night — one  of  those 
nights  in  which  great  projects  are  conceived  and 
decisive  resolutions  adopted. 

His  resolutions  and  his  plans  he  summed  up  in  the 
letter  he  wrote  to  Blanquez.  The  latter  did  not 
answer  by  return  of  mail ;  days  passed,  and  Segundo 
went  every  morning  to  the  post-office,  always  meet- 
ing with  the  same  laconic  answer.  At  last  one  day 
he  received  a  voluminous  registered  letter. 


XXVI. 

As  he  opened  it,  several  newspapers  fell  out,  con- 
taining notices  marked  by  a  cross  of  the  volume  of 
poems  just  published,  entitled  "Songs  of  Absence," 
this  being  the  name  chosen  by  Segundo  for  his  vol- 
ume of  rhymes. 

These  were  accompanied  by  a  letter  of  four  pages 
from  Roberto.  What  it  might  contain  was  of  such 
vital  importance  to  Segundo,  so  great  the  influence 
it  might  exercise  over  his  future,  that  he  laid  it  aside 
fearing,  he  knew  not  why,  to  read  it,  wishing  to  de- 
fer what  he  so  eagerly  desired.  The  letter  lay  open 
before  him  and  certain  names,  certain  words  fre- 
quently repeated,  caught  his  eye.  The  name  of  the 
widowed  Senora  de  Comba  was  often  mentioned  in 
it.  To  calm  his  agitation,  which  was  purely  ner- 
vous, he  took  up  the  newspapers,  resolving  to  read 
first  the  marked  paragraphs.  He  traversed  the  via 
c?'tLcis,  in  the  fullest  signification  of  the  words. 

El  Imperial  gave  a  noisy  boom  to  Galicia  and,  as  a 
proof  that  the  country  produced  poets  in  the  same 

abundance   as   it  produced    exquisite  peaches   and 

274 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  275 

beautiful  flowers  mentioned,  without  naming  him,  the 
author  of  "Songs  of  Absence,"  a  beautiful  volume 
just  published.  And  not  a  line  more,  not  a  word  of 
criticism,  nothing  to  indicate  that  anybody  in  the 
office  of  the  popular  daily  had  taken  the  trouble 
even  to  cut  the  leaves  of  the  book.  El  Liberal,  bet- 
ter informed,  declared,  in  three  lines,  that  "Songs 
of  Absence"  gave  evidence  of  the  author's  great 
facility  in  versification.  LaEpoca.'m.  the  most  obscure 
corner  of  its  department,  "New  Books,"  eulogized  the 
typographical  elegance  of  the  book ;  disapproved  of 
the  romantic  savor  of  the  title  and  of  the  title-page, 
and  deplored  in  trenchant  phrases  that  the  poet 
should  have  sought  inspiration  in  the  barren  theme 
of  absence  when  there  were  so  many  wholesome, 
cheerful   and    fruitful   subjects  on  which    to   write. 

El  Dia 

Ah,  as  for  El  Dia,  it  gave  Segundo  a  castigation 
in  style :  not  one  of  those  angry,  predetermined,  ener- 
getic castigations,  in  which  the  lash  is  taken  up  with 
both  hands  to  crush  a  powerful  and  dangerous  adver- 
sary, but  a  contemptuous  cut  of  the  whip,  a  flick 
with  the  nail,  as  it  were,  as  one  might  brush  away  a 
troublesome  insect ;  one  of  those  summary  criticisms 
in  which  the  critic  does  not  take  the  trouble  to  ad- 
duce proof  or  argument  in  support  of  his  criticisms, 


276  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

whose  justice  he  deems  so  evident  as  not  to  require 
demonstration;  an  execution  by  a  few  jests,  but 
jests  of  a  kind  that  extinguish  a  new  author,  crush 
him,  relegate  him  forever  to  the  Umbo  of  obscurity. 
The  critic  said  that  now  when  verses  of  supreme 
merit  lacked  readers  it  was  greatly  to  be  deplored 
that  the  press  should  be  made  to  groan  with  rhymes 
of  an  inferior  quality;  that  now  when  Becquer  had 
been  placed  in  the  pantheon  of  the  immortals  it  was 
a  crime  to  treat  him  with  the  disrespect  of  stupidly 
imitating  him,  mutilating  and  counterfeiting  his  best 
thoughts;  and  finally,  that  it  was  to  be  regretted 
that  estimable  young  men,  endowed,  perhaps,  with 
admirable  capabilities  for  trade,  or  for  the  career  of 
an  apothecary  or  a  notary,  should  spend  their 
parents'  money  in  costly  editions  of  verses  which  no 
one  would  either  buy  or  read. 

Underneath  this  philippic  Roberto  Blanquez  had 
written:  *Tay  no  attention  to  this  ass.  Read  my 
article." 

And  indeed  in  an  obscure,  insignificant  sheet,  one 
of  those  innumerable  periodicals  that  see  the  light 
in  Madrid  without  Madrid  ever  seeing  them,  Blan- 
quez poured  forth  the  gall  of  his  wounded  friendship 
and  patriotism — taking  the  critic  to  task,  eulogizing 
Segundo's  book  and  declaring  him  the  worthy  com- 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  277 

peer  of  Becquer,  with  the  difference  that  the  former 
was  a  little  sweeter,  a  Httle  more  dreamy,  a  little 
more  melancholy,  as  being  the  son  of  a  land  as  beau- 
tiful as  it  was  unfortunate,  and  which  was  fairer  than 
Andalusia,  than  Switzerland,  or  than  any  other 
country  on  the  face  of  the  globe ;  ending  by  saying 
that  if  Becquer  had  been  born  in  Galicia  he  would 
feel,  think,  and  write  like  The  Szvaii  of  Vilamorta. 

Segundo  seized  the  bundle  of  newspapers  and, 
after  looking  at  them  for  a  moment  fixedly  and  with 
a  gloomy  brow,  tore  them  into  pieces,  large  at  first, 
then  small,  then  smaller  still,  which  he  threw  out  of 
the  window  to  hover  for  a  moment  in  the  air  like 
butterflies  or  like  the  silvery  petals  of  the  flower  of 
illusion,  and  then  fall  into  the  nearest  pool.  Segundo 
smiled  bitterly.  "There  goes  fame,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "Now  I  think  I  am  calmer.  Let  us  see  what 
the  letter  says." 

Of  this  letter  we  need  cite  here  only  certain  pass- 
sages,  supplementing  them  with  the  comments  made 
on  them  in  his  mind  by  the  reader. 

"According  to  your  request  I  went  to  the  house 
of  Senora  de  Comba  to  deliver  to  her  the  copy,  so 
carefully  wrapped  up  and  sealed,  which  you  sent  me 
for  that  purpose." — Of  course.  It  contained  an  in- 
scription which  I  did  not  want  her  to  think  that  you 


2 73  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

might  have  read. — "She  has  a  beautiful  house,  hang- 
ings and  natural  flowers  everywhere." — Everything 
pertaining  to  her  is  like  that,  beautiful  and  refined. — 
"But  I  was  obliged  to  return  several  times  before 
she  would  receive  me,  the  moment  was  always  inop- 
portune."— She  does  not  receive  indiscriminately  all 
who  may  chance  to  present  themselves. — "At  last 
she  received  me,  after  innumerable  ceremonies  and 
formalities.  She  is  very  beautiful  close  by,  more 
beautiful,  even,  than  at  a  distance,  and  it  seems  im- 
possible that  she  should  have  a  daughter  twelve 
years  old ;  she  looks  at  most  twenty-four  or  twenty- 
five." — What  news  Roberto  has  to  tell  me. — "The 
moment  I  told  her  I  had  come  on  your  part" — Let 
us  hear — "she  became — what  shall  I  say?" — red — 
"displeased  and  annoyed,  my  boy,  and  in  addition  so 
serious,  that  I  was  quite  taken  aback,  and  did  not 
know  what  to  do." — Infamous!  Infamous! — "She 
was  afraid  that  I" — Let  us  hear;  let  us  finish,  let  us 
finish. — "She  refused  to  receive  the  book,  in  spite 
of  my  urgent  entreaties" — but  this  is  inconceivable. 
Ah,  what  a  woman  ! — "because  she  says  it  would  re- 
mind her  too  forcibly  of  that  place  and  of  the  death 
of  her  husband,  whom  God  keep  in  his  glory;  and 
consequently  she  begs  you  to  excuse  her" — 
wretch! — ''from   opening  the  package   and  reading 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  279 

your  verse,  for  which  she  thanks  you." — Ha!  ha! 
ha  I — Bravo  I     What  an  actress  ! 

"Notwithstanding  all  this,  as  you  had  charged  me 
explicitly  to  deliver  it  to  her,  I  determined  not  to 
take  the  book  back  with  me  and,  taking  up  my  hat 
and  saluting  her,  I  laid  your  package  on  a  table.  On 
the  following  morning,  however,  it  came  back  to  me 
unopened,  with  all  its  seals  intact." —  And  I  did  not 
throw  her  into  the  Avieiro  that  day  when  our 
lips — the  more  fool  I !     Well,  let  us  finish. 

"In  view  of  the  little  widow's  conduct  I  imagine 
that  you  must  have  invented  all  that  about  the  win- 
dow and  the  precipice ;  you  must  have  told  it  to  me 
to  fool  me  or,  as  you  are  so  imaginative,  you  dreamed 
that  it  happened  and  you  took  the  dream  for  re- 
ality."—  He  does  well  to  mock  me. — ''At  all  events, 
my  boy,  if  you  were  interested  in  the  widow,  think 
no  more  about  her.  I  know  to  a  certainty,  through 
my  cousins,  who  have  it  for  a  fact  from  their  father, 
that  at  the  expiration  of  the  period  of  her  mourning 
she  is  to  marry  a  certain  Marquis  de  Cameros  who 
represented  at  one  time  a  district  in  Lugo." — Yes, 
yes,  I  understand. — ''The  thing  is  serious,  for,  accord- 
ing to  what  my  cousins  say,  the  house  linen  is  being 
embroidered  already  with  the  coronet  of  a  march- 
ioness." 


28o  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

The  letter  was  torn  still  more  slowly  and  into 
still  smaller  pieces  than  the  newspapers.  With 
the  fragments  Segundo  made  a  ball  which  he 
threw  far  into  the  middle  of  the  pool.  "Such  is 
love,"  he  said  to  himself,  laughing  bitterly. 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  at  first 
with  a  certain  monotonous  regularity,  then  restlessly 
and  with  fury.  Clara,  the  eldest  of  his  sisters,  half 
opened  the  door  of  the  room,  saying: 

"Aunt  Gaspara  says  you  are  to  come." 

"What  for?" 

"Dinner  is  ready." 

Segundo  took  his  hat  and  rushing  into  the  street 
walked  toward  the  river,  filled  with  that  species  of 
fury  which  one  who  has  just  received  some  mental 
shock,  some  bitter  disappointment,  is  apt  to  feel  at 
being  called  on  to  take  part  in  any  of  the  ordinary 
concerns  of  life. 


XXVII. 

What  a  walk  was  his  along  the  marshy  borders  of 
the  Avieiro !  At  times  he  hurried  on  without  any 
motive  for  accelerating  his  steps,  and  again,  equally 
without  motive,  stood  still,  his  gaze  riveted  on  some 
object  but  in  reality  seeing  nothing.  One  regret, 
a  gnawing  grief,  pierced  his  soul  when  he  recalled 
the  past.  As  in  a  shipwreck  there  is  for  each  of  the 
passengers  some  one  particular  object  whose  loss  he 
deplores  more  bitterly  than  that  of  all  his  other  pos- 
sessions, so  Segundo,  of  all  his  past  life,  regretted 
one  instant  above  every  other,  an  instant  which  he 
would  have  given  all  he  possessed  to  live  over 
again — that  during  which  he  had  stood  with  Nieves 
on  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  when  he  might  have 
obtained  a  worthy  and  glorious  death,  carrying  with 
him  into  the  abyss  the  precious  treasure  of  his  illu- 
sions, and  the  form  of  the  woman  who  for  that  one 
unforgettable  instant  only,  had  truly  loved  him. 

**A  coward  then,  and  a  coward  now!"  thought 
the  poet,  calling  all  his  resolution  to  his  aid  but  find- 
ing himself  unable  to  summon  the  necessary  courage 

281 


282  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

to  throw  himself  at  once  into  the  cold  and  muddy 
waters  of  the  river.  What  moments  of  anguish ! 
Giddy  with  suffering  he  seated  himself  on  a  stone 
on  the  river  bank  and  watched  with  idiotic  vacancy 
of  expression  the  circles  formed  on  the  bosom  of  the 
river  by  the  drops  of  rain  that  fell  slantingly  from 
the  gray  sky,  as  they  expanded  and  were  lost  in 
other  circles  that  pressed  upon  them  on  all  sides, 
while  new  circles  took  their  place,  to  be  lost  in  their 
turn  in  yet  other  circles,  co\'ering  the  surface  of  the 
water  with  a  wavy  design  resembling  the  silver  work 
called  guilloche.  The  poet  did  not  even  notice  that 
these  same  rain-drops  that  fell  thick  and  fast  on  the 
surface  of  the  Avieiro  fell  also  on  his  hat  and  shoul- 
ders, ran  down  his  forehead  and,  making  their  way 
between  his  collar  and  his  skin,  trickled  down  his 
neck.  He  noticed  it  only  when  the  chill  they  pro- 
duced made  him  shiver  and  he  rose  and  walked 
slowly  home,  where  dinner  was  already  over  and  no 
one  thought  of  offering  him  even  so  much  as  a  cup 
of  broth. 

Two  or  three  days  later  a  fever  declared  itself, 
w^hich  was  at  first  slight,  but  soon  grew  serious. 
Tropiezo  called  it  a  gastric  and  catarrhal  fever, 
and  truth  compels  us  to  say  that  he  administered 
remedies     not     altogether     inappropriate ;     gastric 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  283 

and  catarrhal  fevers  are,  for  physicians  whose 
knowledge  is  derived  chiefly  from  experience, 
a  perfect  boon  from  Heaven,  a  glorious  field 
in  which  they  may  count  every  battle  a  vic- 
tory ;  a  beaten  path  in  which  they  run  no  risk  of 
going  astray.  It  will  not  lead  them  to  the  unknown 
pole  of  science,  but  at  least  it  will  betray  them  into 
no  abyss. 

As  Tropiezo  was  leaving  Garcia's  house  one  even- 
ing, after  his  customary  visit  to  Segundo,  muffled  up 
to  the  ears  in  his  comforter,  he  saw,  standing  beside 
the  lawyer's  door  in  the  shadow  cast  by  the  con- 
tiguous wall,  a  woman  clad  in  an  old  morning  gown 
and  with  her  head  bare.  The  night  was  bright  and 
Don  Fermin  was  able  to  distinguish  her  features, 
but  it  was  not  without  some  difBculty  that  he  recog- 
nized her  to  be  Leocadia,  so  altered  and  aged  did 
the  poor  schoolmistress  look.  Her  countenance  be- 
trayed the  keenest  anxiety  as  she  asked  the  doctor : 

*'And  what  news,  Don  Fermin?  How  is  Segundo 
getting  on?" 

"Ah,  good  evening,  Leocadia.  Do  you  know  that 
at  first  I  did  not  recognize  you?— Well,  very  well; 
there  is  no  cause  for  uneasiness.  To-day  I  ordered 
him  some  of  the  piichero  and  some  soup.  It  was 
nothing — a  cold  caught  by  getting  a  wetting.     But 


284  THE  SWAN  OF  VJLAMORTA. 

the  boy  seems  a  little  preoccupied,  and  he  was  for  a 
time  so  sad  and  dejected  that  I  thought  he  was 
never  going  to  get  back  his  appetite.  At  this  sea- 
son it  is  necessary  to  go  warmly  clad ;  we  have  a 
fine  day,  and  then,  when  you  least  expect  it,  back 
come  the  rain  and  the  cold  again.  And  you — how 
are  you  getting  on?  They  tell  me  that  you  have 
not  been  well,  either.  You  must  take  care  of  your- 
self." 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  Don  Fer- 
min." 

'■*So  much  the  better.     Any  news  of  the  boy?" 

**He  is  in  Orense,  poor  child.  He  can't  get  used 
to  it." 

"He  will  get  used  to  it  by  and  by.  Of  course — 
accustomed  to  be  petted.  Well,  Leocadia,  good- 
night.    Go  home,  my  dear  woman,  go  home." 

Don  Fermin  proceeded  on  his  way,  drawing  his 
comforter  up  closer  around  his  ears.  That  woman 
was  mad;  she  had  not  taken  the  disease  lightly,  it 
seemed.  And  how  altered  she  was !  How  old  she 
had  grown  in  these  last  few  months !  Old  women 
were  worse  than  young  girls  when  they  fell  in  love. 
He  had  done  wisely,  very  wisely  in  telling  her  noth- 
ing about  Segundo's  new  plans.  She  was  capable 
of  tearing  down  the  house  if  he  had  told  her.     No, 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  285 

silence,  silence.  A  shut  mouth  catches  no  flies.  Let 
her  find  it  out  through  someone  else  besides  him. 
And  with  these  sensible  ideas  and  worthy  intentions 
Tropiezo  reached  Agonde's,  and  before  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  had  elapsed  unbosomed  himself  of  his  news: 
Segundo  Garcia  was  going  to  America  to  seek  his 
fortune — as  soon  as  he  should  be  entirely  well,  of 
course.     He  would  take  the  steamer  at  Corunna. 

The  occasion  was  a  favorable  one  for  the  company 
to  lament  once  more  in  concert  the  death  of  Don 
Victoriano  Andres  de  la  Comba,  protector  and  father 
of  all  the  Vilamortans  in  want  of  situations,  a  useful 
representative  and  an  untiring  worker  for  the  dis- 
trict. If  he  were  alive  now  most  assuredly  a  young 
man  of  so  much  ability — a  poet — that  night  the  party 
all  agreed  that  Segundo  had  abihty  and  was  a  poet — 
would  not  be  obliged  to  go  across  the  raging  seas  in 
quest  of  a  decent  situation.  But  since  they  had  lost 
Don  Victoriano,  Vilamorta  was  without  a  voice  in 
the  regions  of  influence  and  favor,  for  Seiiorito  de 
Romero,  the  present  representative  of  the  district, 
belonged  to  the  class  of  docile  representatives  who 
give  no  trouble  to  the  Government,  who  vote  when 
their  votes  are  wanted,  and  who  hold  themselves 
cheap,  valuing  themselves  at  no  more  than  a  few 
tobacco   shops,  and   half  a  dozen   or  so   of  official 


286  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

appointments.  Agonde  took  his  revenge  that  night, 
expatiating  on  his  favorite  theme,  and  abusing  the 
pernicious  Eufrasian  influence  which  was  responsi- 
ble for  the  decadence  of  Vilamorta,  on  account  of 
which  its  youth  w^ere  obHged  to  emigrate  to  the  New 
World.  The  apothecary  expounded  his  theories — 
he  liked  the  representative  of  a  district  to  show  him- 
self in  it  occasionally.  Otherwise  of  what  use  was 
he?  In  his  eyes  the  ideal  representative  was  that 
famous  politician  from  whom  the  barber  of  the  town 
he  represented  had  asked  a  place,  basing  his  request 
on  the  fact  that,  owing  to  the  distribution  of  ap- 
pointments among  the  persons  of  his  station  in  the 
town,  there  were  no  customers  left  for  him  to  shave 
and  he  was  starving.  The  Alcalde  here  interposed, 
saying  that  he  had  it  on  very  good  authority  that 
Senorito  de  Romero  intended  to  interest  himself  in 
earnest  for  Vilamorta;  the  confectioner  and  some 
others  of  those  present  confirmed  this  statement,  and 
then  arose  a  discussion  in  which  it  was  proved  be- 
yond a  doubt  that  a  dead  representative  has  no 
friends  and  that  the  new  representative  of  the  dis- 
trict had  already,  in  the  very  stronghold  of  the  for- 
mer Combista  radicals,  friends  and  adherents. 


XXVIII. 

Tlfi-:  Swan  has  left  his  native  lake,  or  rather,  his 
pool ;  lie  has  crossed  the  Atlantic  on  the  wings  of 
steam.  Will  he  ever  return?  Will  he  come  back 
with  a  sallow  countenance,  a  disordered  liver,  and 
some  thousands  of  dollars,  in  bills  of  exchange,  in 
his  pocketbook,  to  end  his  life  where  it  began,  as 
the  ship  disabled  by  storms  receives  its  last  repairs 
in  the  dockyard  in  which  it  was  built?  Will  the 
black  vomit,  that  terrible  malady  of  the  Antilles,  the 
scourge  of  the  Iberians  who  seek  to  emulate  Colum- 
bus conquering  a  new  world,  attack  him  on  his 
arrival  on  the  young  continent?  Will  he  remain  in 
the  tropics,  riding  in  his  carriage,  united  in  the  bonds 
of  matrimony  to  some  Creole?  W^ill  he  preside  one 
day  over  one  of  those  diminutive  republics,  in  which 
the  doctors  are  generals  and  the  generals  doctors? 
Will  his  melancholy  be  cured  by  the  salty  kiss  of 
the  ocean  breeze,  by  the  contact  of  virgin  soil,  the 
sharp  spur  of  necessity,  that,  pushing  him  into  the 
conflict,  will  say  to  him,  "Work"? 

History  may  perhaps  at  some  future  day  relate 

2S7 


288  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

the  story  of  the  metamorphosis  of  the  Swan,  of  his 
wanderings  and  his  vicissitudes;  but  years  must  first 
elapse,  for  it  was  only  yesterday,  as  one  might  say, 
that  Segundq  Garcia  quitted  Vilamorta,  leaving  the 
schoolmistress  behind  him  dissolved  in  tears.  And 
the  story  of  the  schoolmistress  is  the  only  episode 
in  the  chronicle  of  the  Swan  which  we  can  at  present 
bring  to  an  end. 

Leocadia  was  the  theme  of  much  gossip  in  Vila- 
morta. She  was  seriously  ill,  according  to  some,  ac- 
cording to  others,  ruined,  and  according  to  many, 
touched  in  her  mind.  She  had  been  seen  haunting  the 
neighborhood  of  Segundo's  house  on  various  nights 
during  the  poet's  illness ;  it  was  affirmed  that  she  had 
sold  her  land  and  that  her  house  was  mortgaged  to 
Clodio  Genday ;  but  the  strangest  thing  of  all,  that 
which  was  most  bitterly  censured,  was  her  neglect  of 
her  son  after  having  cared  for  him  and  watched  over 
him  from  his  infancy,  never  going  to  Orense  to  see 
him,  while  old  Flores  went  there  constantly,  bringing 
back  worse  and  worse  news  of  the  child  every  time  she 
went — that  he  was  wasting  away,  that  he  spit  blood, 
that  he  was  dying  of  grief,  that  he  would  not  last  a 
month.  ^Leocadia,  as  she  listened,  would  let  her 
chin  fall  upon  her  breast,  and  at  times  her  shoulders 
would  move  convulsively,  as  if  she  w^ere  weeping, 


THE  SWAN  OF   VILAMORTA.  289 

Otherwise  she  appeared  calm,  although  she  was  very 
silent  and  had  lost  her  former  activity.  She  helped 
Flores  in  the  kitchen,  attended  to  the  children  of 
the  school,  swept  and  dusted — all  like  an  automa- 
ton, while  Flores,  who  pitilessly  spied  out  every  occa- 
sion to  find  fault  with  her,  took  pleasure  in  crying: 

''Woman,  you  have  left  this  side  of  the  pan  dirty — 
woman,  you  haven't  mended  your  skirt — woman, 
what  are  you  thinking  about?  I  am  going  to  Orense 
to-day  and  you  will  have  to  take  care  of  th.Qpuchero.'" 

At  the  end  of  the  summer  Clodio  demanded  the 
interest  on  his  loan  and  Leocadia  was  unable  to  pay 
it ;  she  was  notified  accordingly  that,  after  the  neces- 
sary legal  proceedings,  the  creditor  would  avail  him- 
self of  his  legal  right  to  take  possession  of  the  house. 
This  was  a  terrible  blow  for  Leocadia. 

It  will  sometimes  happen  that  a  prisoner,  a  dis- 
tinguished personage,  a  king,  it  may  be,  shut  up 
through  an  adverse  fate  within  the  walls  of  a  dun- 
geon, stripped  of  his  grandeur,  deprived  of  all  t^at 
once  constituted  his  happiness,  will  bear  his  ills  for 
years  with  resignation,  calm  in  appearance  although 
dejected,  but  if  some  day,  by  the  cruel  tyranny  of 
his  jailors,  this  prisoner  is  deprived  of  some  bauble, 
some  trifling  object  for  which  he  had  conceived  an 
affection,  the  grief  pent  up  within  his  bosom   will 


290  THE    S]VAX   OF   VILAMORTA. 

burst  its  bounds,  and  the  wildest  manifestations  of 
grief  will  follow.  Something  like  this  happened  to 
Leocadia  when  she  learned  that  she  must  abandon 
forever  the  beloved  little  house  where  she  had  spent 
in  Segundo's  company  hours  unique  in  her  existence  ; 
the  little  house  in  which  she  was  mistress,  which  had 
been  rebuilt  with  her  savings,  the  little  house  lately 
so  neat  and  so  attractive,  of  which  she  was  so  proud. 

Flores  heard  her  on  several  nights  sobbing  loudly, 
but  when  on  one  or  two  occasions,  moved  by  an  in- 
voluntary feeling  of  pity,  the  old  woman  went  into 
her  room  to  ask  her  what  ailed  her,  if  she  could  do 
anything  for  her,  Leocadia,  covering  her  face  with 
the  bedclothes,  had  answered  in  a  dull  voice  :  "There 
is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  woman  ;  let  me  sleep. 
You  will  not  even  let  me  sleep !" 

During  those  days  her  moods  varied  constantly 
and  she  formed  a  thousand  different  plans.  She 
talked  of  going  to  live  in  Orense,  of  giving  up  the 
school  and  taking  sewing  to  do  in  the  house ;  she 
talked,  too,  of  accepting  the  proposal  of  Clodio  Gen- 
day,  who,  having  dismissed  his  young  servant,  for 
what  reason  no  one  knew,  offered  to  take  Leocadia 
as  his  housekeeper,  by  which  arrangement  she  would 
remain  in  her  house,  Flores,  of  course,  being  dis- 
missed.    None  of  these  plans  lasted  for  more_than 


Tin-:  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  ^9- 

a  very  short  time,  but  were  all  in  tura  rejected  to 
give  place  to  others  no  less  ephemeral;  and  while 
the  schoolmistress  was  thus  engaged  in  forming  and 
rejecting  plans  the  time  was  fast  approaching 
when  she  should  find  herself  without  a  shelter. 

One  market  day  Leocadia  went  to  purchase 
various  articles  urgently  needed  by  Flores,  among 
others  a  sieve  and  a  new  chocolate-pot,  the  old  one 
being  no  longer  fit  for  use.  The  movement  of  the 
crowd,  the  jostling  of  the  hucksters,  and  the  glare  of 
the  autumnal  sun  made  her  head,  weak  from  want 
of  sleep,  from  fasting,  and  from  suffering — slightly 
dizzy.  She  stopped  before  a  stall  where  sieves 
were  sold,  a  sort  of  variety  booth,  where  innumerable 
indispensable  trifles  were  for  sale — chocolate-beaters, 
frying-pans,  saucepans,  kerosene  lamps.  In  a  corner 
were  two  articles  of  merchandise  in  great  request  in 
the  place — consisting  of  pink  paper,  soft,  like  brown 
paper,  and  some  whitish  powder,  resembling  spoiled 
flour.  Leocadia's  glance  fell  on  these,  and  the  ven- 
der, thinking  she  wished  to  buy  some,  began  to  extol 
their  properties,  explaining  that  the  pink  sheets 
moistened  and  placed  on  a  plate,  would  not  leave 
a  fly  alive  in  the  neighborhood,  and  that  the  white 
powder  was  scneca,  for  killing  mice,  the  manner  of 
using  it  being  to  mix  it  well  with  cheese  and  place 


^9-  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

the  mixture,  made  into  little  balls,  in  their  haunts. 
Leocadia  asked  the  price  and  told  the  vender  to 
give  her  a  small  quantity,  and  the  woman,  to  appear 
generous,  took  up  a  good  portion  on  the  spatula, 
wrapped  it  up  in  paper,  and  gave  it  to  her  for  a 
trifling  sum.  The  drug  indeed  was  of  little  value, 
being  very  common  in  that  part  of  the  country, 
where  native  arsenic  abounds  in  the  calcareous  spar 
forming  one  of  the  banks  of  the  Avieiro,  and  arsenic, 
acid — rat-poison — is  sold  openly  in  the  fairs,  rather 
than  in  drug  shops.  The  schoolmistress  put  away 
the  powder,  bought,  through  complaisance,  half  a 
dozen  of  the  pink  slips  of  paper,  and  on  her  return 
home  punctually  delivered  to  Flores  the  articles  she 
had  been  commissioned  to  purchase. 

Flores  noticed  that  after  dinner  Leocadia  shut 
herself  up  in  her  bedroom,  where  the  old  woman 
could  hear  her  talking  aloud  as  if  she  were  praying. 
Accustomed  to  her  eccentricities  the  servant  thought 
nothing  about  the  matter.  When  she  had  ended 
her  prayer,  the  schoolmistress  stepped  out  on  the 
balcony,  where  she  stood  gazing  for  a  long  time  at 
the  flower-pots;  she  then  went  into  the  parlor  and 
looked  for  a  good  while  also  at  the  sofa,  the  chairs, 
the  little  table,  the  spots  which  reminded  her  of  the 
past.      Then    she   went    into    the   kitchen.      Flores 


THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA.  293 

declared  afterward — but  in  such  cases  who  Is  there 
that  does  not  lay  claim  to  a  prophetic  instinct — that 
Leocadia's  manner  on  entering  had  attracted  her  at- 
tention. 

"Have  you  any  fresh  water?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Give  me  a  glass  of  it." 

Flores  affirmed  that,  as  she  took  the  glass,  the 
hand  of  the  schoolmistress  trembled,  as  if  she  had  a 
chill,  and  the  strangest  part  of  the  matter  was  that, 
although  there  was  no  sugar  in  the  water,  Leocadia 
asked  for  a  spoon,  which  she  put  into  the  glass.  An 
hour,  or  perhaps  an  hour  and  a  half  passed,  when 
Flores  heard  Leocadia  groan.  She  hurried  to  her 
room  and  saw  her  lying  on  the  bed,  her  face  fright- 
fully pale,  making  desperate  and  fruitless  efforts  to 
vomit.  Then  a  cold  perspiration  broke  out  on  the 
forehead  of  the  sick  woman,  and  she  remained  mo- 
tionless and  speechless.  Flores,  terrified,  ran  for 
Don  Fermin,  urging  him  to  hurry,  saying  this  was 
no  jesting  matter.  When  Don  Fermin  arrived  out 
of  breath,  he  asked : 

**What  is  this,  Leocadia?  What  is  the  matter 
with  you ;  my  dear  woman,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you? 

Opening  her  dilated  eyes,  she  murmured : 


294  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

"Nothing,  Don  Fermin,  nothing." 

Standing  on  the  table  at  the  head  of  the  bed  was 
the  glass;  it  contained  no  water,  but  the  bottom  and 
the  sides  of  the  vessel  were  coated  with  a  white 
powder  which  had  remained  undissolved  and  which 
the  schoolmistress,  not  wishing  to  leave  it  there,  had 
scraped  off  in  places  with  the  spoon.  It  is  proper  to 
say,  on  this  occasion  also,  that  the  illustrious  Tro- 
piezo  made  no  mistake  in  the  treatment  of  so  simple 
a  case.  Tropiezo  had  already  fought  some  battles 
with  this  common  toxic  substance  and  knew  its 
tricks;  he  had  recourse,  without  a  moment's  delay, 
to  the  use  of  powerful  emetics  and  of  oil.  Only 
the  poison,  having  gained  the  start  of  him,  had  already 
entered  into  the  circulation  and  ran  through  the 
veins  of  the  schoolmistress,  chilling  her  blood. 
When  the  nausea  and  the  vomiting  ceased  several 
little  red  spots — an  eruption  similar  to  that  of  scar- 
let-fever— made  their  appearance  on  Leocadia's 
pallid  face.  This  symptom  lasted  until  death  came 
to  set  her  sad  spirit  free  and  release  it  from  its  suf- 
ferings, which  was  toward  daybreak.  Shortly  before 
her  death,  during  an  interval  of  freedom  from  pain, 
Leocadia,  making  a  sign  to  Flores  to  come  nearer, 
whispered  in  her  ear:  "Promise  me — that  the  child 
shall   not   know  it — bv  the  soul   of  vour   mother — • 


THE  SIVAK  OF  VrLAMORTA.  295 

don't  tell  him — don't  tell  him  the  manner  of  my 
death." 

A  few  days  later  Tropiezo  was  defending  him- 
self to  the  party  at  Agonde's  who,  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  making  him  angry,  were  accusing  him  of 
being  responsible  for  the  death  of  the  school- 
mistress. 

"For  one  thing,  they  called  me  too  late,  much  too 
late,"  he  said ;  *\vhen  the  woman  was  almost  in  her 
death  agony.  For  another,  she  had  taken  a  quan- 
tity of  arsenic  which  was  not  large  enough  to  pro- 
duce vomiting,  but  which  was  too  small  to  cause 
merely  a  colic  and  be  done  with  it.  Where  I  made 
the  mistake  was  in  waiting  so  long  before  sending 
for  the  priest.  I  did  it  with  the  best  intentions,  so 
as  not  to  frighten  her  and  hoping  we  might  yet  pull 
her  through.  When  extreme*  unction  was  adminis- 
tered she  had  no  senses  left  to  know  what  was  going 
on. 

"So  that,"  said  Agonde  maliciously,  * 'where  you 
are  called  in,  either  the  soul  or  the  body  is  sure  to 
meet  with  a  trip." 

The  company  applauded  the  joke,  and  there  fol- 
lowed funereal  jests  mingled  with  expressions  of 
pity.  Clodio  Genday,  the  creditor  of  the  deceased, 
moved  about  uneasily   in  his   chair.     What    stupid 


296  THE  SWAN  OF  VILAMORTA. 

conversation,  canario  I     Let  them  talk  of  more  cheer- 
ful subjects! 

And  they  talked  of  very  cheerful  and  satisfactory 
subjects  indeed.  •  Sefiorito  de  Romero  had  prom- 
ised to  put  a  telegraph-office  in  Vilamorta;  and  the 
newspapers  were  saying  that,  owing  to  the  increas- 
ing importance  of  the  viticultural  interests  of  the 
Border,  a  branch  railroad  was  needed  for  which  the 
engineers  were  soon  coming  to  survey  the  ground. 


THE   END. 


THE  ANGLOMANIACS. 

A  Sio7y  of  New  York  Society  To-day, 
By  MRS.  BURTON  HARRISON. 


A  Volume,  i2nio,  on  Extra  Fine  Laid  Paper,  Dainty  Binding, 
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Is  life,  real,  true  American  life,  and  we  blush  at  the  truth  of  the  picture. 
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evil. " — Norristoivn  Daily  Herald. 

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and  an  ignorant  but  ambitious  mother,  whose  money  has  enabled  the 
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